


Ce Qui est Réel

by ishipitsobad



Series: Please Believe Me [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, M/M, because we all deserve fluff, especially after all the shit i put you all through, i still dk why you people spell their names that way but okay, smut MAYBE, tags to be changed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipitsobad/pseuds/ishipitsobad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are once again reunited, and this time, they plan to stay together for good. For better, or for worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teach Me How

**Author's Note:**

> HEEHEE HAVE SOME FLUFF because I want fluff.

  "Okay, now you're just being mean," Marco pouted.

Jean nipped at his lower lip, making the freckled man yelp in protest. "You know that pout of yours does things to me."

  "It didn't make you any less of a mean-butt, that's for sure," Marco muttered.

  "Keep that up," Jean called over his shoulder. "And you're not getting any pancakes."

Marco leaned back against the pillows, watching Jean walk out of the room without a stitch on that damned fine body of his. His butt, which Marco had called mean just mere seconds ago, was a fantastic one and the darker-haired male was enjoying the view. He snuggled under the duvet, feeling warm and secure and happy... and incredibly sore.

He groaned as he tried to roll on his side from his back, feeling the muscles twinge in protest. Jean was a beast in the MMA fighting ring, and he had the trophies and belts to prove it. He was also a beast in bed, something Marco couldn't decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

But the most important thing was, Jean might be a beast... but he was Marco's beast. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine and he burrowed deeper into the goose-feather pillows. After six years of pain and skewed thinking, he was Jean's " _mon cœur_ " again. He wanted to shout out his delight and joy to the whole world, but settled for squealing and blushing into Jean's pillows instead. They even smelled like him: all manly aftershave and manly soap. Marco was still using his mother's cinnamon shampoo, because Jean liked that smell on him ("it reminds me of how you when we were 21," Jean had declared) and because it was his only familiar rock besides Jean in this strange land that was France.

Marco had never travelled beyond the borders of U.S. of A. Now that he thought about it, he had never even seen the ocean until he was on the plane, flying across the oceans stretching between Europe and U.S. of A. It had been a breathtaking sight, and so had Paris. The cobblestone streets, the picturesque landscape and architecture, and even the people! Oh, and seeing the Eiffel Tower had been just lovely, especially with Jean getting them past the long queues at the elevator by simply flashing his face and passport to the guards just so Marco could get a view from the top of it.

Jean, who had been so attentive and so sweet, was now making pancakes (probably blueberry) to bring to Marco to eat in bed. His heart wanted to leap out of his chest through his throat and do a happy jig on the varnished Brazilian teak floors of the Kirschstein Paris residential apartment. In which he happened to be naked, and in a gay relationship with the only son and heir.

His heart thudded as he realised the weight of what he'd just thought.  _Only son and heir._

Jean was the only son and heir of the LaRue Shipping company, an international corporation with profits in the billions. He was going to inherit it one day, which meant he was going to have to have a successor to inherit it after him.

A successor Marco couldn't give him.

Marco looked down at his naked body, and cursed himself for having a penis instead of a vagina, pectorals instead of breasts. He knew, and it hurt to know, that eventually Jean was going to have to cast him aside to marry a woman. A woman who could give him an heir.

 _I shouldn't have come back,_ Marco's thoughts grew steadily more frantic as he pursued the topic in his mind.  _What was I thinking? I should have stayed away, maybe just kept in contact as friends. I'm going to ruin everything. I'm going to spoil--_

  "Marco,  _mon amour_ ," Jean peered at him from the foot of the bed, poking his head under the duvet and more importantly, between Marco's legs. "What are you doing under here?"

  " _WAARGH!"_

* * *

 

When Jean finally stopped laughing, he had Marco propped up in bed with a silver tray of freshly-made golden blueberry pancakes, a small bowl that could pass as a cup of diced up fruits, a sunny side-up egg and a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice.

And all Marco could think was:  _one day, Jean is going to make this for his wife and son._

"Marco, what is going on up here?" Jean grabbed his chin and forced him to meet Jean's probing ochre gaze. "There's that look on your face I don't like, and I know what it means. You're thinking about something useless again, aren't you?"

  "N-no," Marco said a little too hastily, a little too nervously. Jean was fast picking up on how to read Marco, and the latter could not do the same for his boyfriend. How does one read Jean Kirschstein when his face is perpetually set in an inscrutable scowl?

  "Yes, you are," Jean didn't release his hold on Marco's chin. "Spit it out."

Marco hesitated. What if Jean grew tired of his endless doubts and insecurities? What if-- no, that was the old Marco. The old Marco was afraid of speaking his mind for fear of being looked down on. Jean's expression now was one of genuine concern. He would never let Marco feel like any of his thoughts were insignificant, or trivial. So Marco took a deep breath, and spit it out.

He expected a sneer, or some sort of derisive response. Instead, Jean just started to laugh so hard that he cried.

  "Really?" Jean gasped between peals of humour. "That's what you were worried about?"

  "It's a legitimate concern--"

  "Marco," Jean finally stopped laughing, but still gave one last snort of mirth before smoothing the hair from Marco's forehead and kissing it. "Don't worry about it. I forgot I didn't tell you. Everyone in my family knows I'm bisexual. And if Evangeline hasn't already told them about us, I'm fairly certain they wouldn't quite care either way. My dad just wants me to succeed him. Who comes after me, is not his concern or his problem. So long as the LaRue Shipping prospers in his lifetime, he couldn't give two hoots about who  _my_ successor is. So we could pick up a kid from the garbage can and call him my successor and my dad could care less. Besides, if he really was pedantic about bloodlines and all that crap, he could always count on Evangeline for that. Except that she's demisexual, and her having a kid could be never."

  "Your parents know?" Marco gaped at the blonde.

  "What, you thought I wouldn't come out to my parents because I was ashamed of my sexuality?" Jean smiled, stroking his beloved's cheek and absently wondering how someone could be so adorable. It should be illegal for Marco to be this adorable. "Well, yeah, my dad pitched a fit at first and tried to threaten me with disinheritance. Then he realised that it wasn't a choice but simply the way I was. There was a lot of tension in the house for a while. But then he got over it and was just 'whatever'."

  "Wow," Marco stammered, trying not to let Jean's feather-light caresses distract him. "That's really understanding of him. I still haven't told my parents that I'm gay, but I think my mom kind of figured it out...?"

  "What did she say?"

  "Nothing," Marco shrugged, taking a bite of blueberry pancake. Jean was, as always, an amazing cook. No wonder the two of them barely left the apartment except to get groceries.

 "Is that bad?" Jean nuzzled Marco's ear with his nose. The effect on Marco was palpable. It was a good thing he'd finished eating, because the free hand that Jean hadn't wrapped around Marco's shoulders was moving south of Marco's stomach.

  "N-no," Marco stuttered, turning a bright scarlet. "But this is. Jean, we just did it--"

  "That was an hour ago," Jean whispered, putting the breakfast tray on the nightstand to get it out of the way. "This is now."

  "I just ate!"

  "Which means your stomach won't start growling halfway, right?" Jean grinned.

  "Jean!"

  "What?"

  "Don't you have work to do?" Marco clutched the duvet to him in desperation.

Jean gave him a sulky look. "Really? Do you hate having sex with me that much?"

  "What? No!" Marco flicked his shoulder. "My hips and my ass are both sore! And you wouldn't let me sleep last night--"

  "Well, you were the one who kept asking me for more."

  "Jean!"

  "Okay, okay," Jean relented, and settled for a steamy kiss that had Marco semi-erect and pouting. "My dad wants me to send in the finalised reports for the quarter anyway. Do you want to take a shower before you nap?"

  "Yes, please," Marco grimaced. He was sticky all over from various bodily fluids drying on his skin. He tried to crawl out of bed, but his lower half was aching so much he felt like a newly born foal trying to stand up for the first time.

  "Here," Jean carried Marco in his arms to the bathroom. It was an embarrassing gesture, but Marco had to be grateful for the assistance even if it  _was_ Jean's fault to begin with. Not that he was complaining. He gently put Marco down in the grand bathtub in the ornately-decorated bathroom and began to fill it with water that wasn't too hot, testing it with the back of his hand so that it wouldn't burn his lover. "That should be just about right."

  "Thanks," Marco blushed.

  "Take your time," Jean kissed Marco's cheek. "But don't overheat yourself. Save that for me to do, when I'm done with my work."

  " _Jean_!"

The blonde merely laughed.

 


	2. Take Me With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean takes Marco on a business trip, and well...

Big Ben (or Elizabeth Tower, but Marco stubbornly refused to think of the iconic landmark as anything but Big Ben) chimed resoundingly, informing the freckled tourist that it was now 5pm and that if he didn't hurry, he would miss Jean.

Marco was now steadily gaining weight, but some of it was muscle, while the rest was fat. Jean didn't particularly care about Marco's weight, and fed him sinful things that varied from Godiva chocolate to cheese fondue. The only workout Marco ever got was in bed, and when Jean went out for his daily run, Marco couldn't tag along because he didn't have proper running shoes and was almost always in the bath at the same time. Then Marco had insisted, and Jean relented to buy Marco a pair of New Balance running shoes in the same model but different colour from his own. The two of them went jogging every evening, with Jean doing up to 6 miles and Marco only half of that. It made Marco feel better, that he was doing proper exercise now, especially alongside Jean who was a gorgeous vision when he was perspiring and panting as his leg muscles defined themselves with every step.

What Marco hadn't counted on was that Jean would insist on bathroom sex after the runs. Marco's breathy moans echoed embarrassingly in the bathroom, and according to Jean, it was "a major turn-on".

Marco's clothes were all bought by Evangeline, who had barged in on the couple when they were doing post-coital cuddling. She was like a whirlwind of activity for the week that she had stayed with them before her term started in earnest (Jean wouldn't stop nagging at her to go away and she would argue back and a comedic sibling fight of epic proportions would ensue, such that Marco felt like bringing out the popcorn): she took Marco shopping with Jean's credit cards in dazzlingly glamorous places like Galaries Lafayette, Printemps and Avenue Montaigne. Marco didn't get to have a say in any of the clothing choices, since Evangeline was literally just grabbing clothes and dumping them in his arms and then pushing him in the direction of the changing room. She had an uncanny eye for size, style and detail, so Marco couldn't complain about her choices. He hardly recognised any of the clothes' brands, and his jaw had dropped when he saw the prices they rung up.

  " _Jean can afford it_ ," Evangeline had laughed. " _It's not like he's been spending it on much else since the two of you got back together._ "

When they got home, Evangeline proceeded to throw his old clothes from Walmart and other flea market brands into a trash bag and tied it up to send it on its way to Salvation Army. It was that, or burn it (Evangeline, as always, had a flair for exaggerations and dramatic behaviour).

As it was, Marco had donned a pair of Alexander Wang jeans, a loose-fitted black cashmere sweater from Ralph Lauren, and his coat was from a brand called Joseph. He felt like he was wearing secondhand clothes, even though they were brand new and from incredibly high-end brands, because they were all tagged with people's names. It was silly, but Marco could never really shed his inner cheap-but-durable preference. Jean had snuck out his favourite old, comfy pair of sweatpants from the trash bag Evangeline had marked with "Armée du Salut" at his request.

He hurried towards the Ritz, where Jean had booked them a suite with a king-sized bed. The doorman greeted him cheerfully as he rushed in, recognising him as a rich tourist (he was tourist, but he wasn't rich since most of his things had been bought by Jean or Evangeline) with his Nikon DSL (another gift from Evangeline, who told him he couldn't go around Europe without having the urge to take pictures; she had been right, as usual) hanging from his neck. He gave the doorman a flustered smile and jogged towards the elevator lobby.

He burst into the room, hoping that he'd made it back faster than Jean so he could welcome the blonde--

  "Welcome back," Jean reclined lazily on the sofa with a glass of Jack Walker. "I take it that you were having a lot of fun without me?"

He was wearing a suit, with the tie loosened from its noose around his neck and the top few buttons were undone to bare his collarbone. His jacket had been carelessly flung over the back of the sofa, and he had kicked off his shoes. He did so hate wearing business attire, but there was no getting out of it when he had to attend a board of directors' meeting. He had, however, obstinately refused to change his two-toned undercut. But he _did_ have to hack off the ponytail (Marco had liked the ponytail so it had been saddening to see it gone. Jean joked that Marco liked the ponytail better than him, and when Marco just stared at him, Jean got upset until the freckled man laughed).

Marco, on the other hand, had positively drooled when he saw Jean knotting his tie in front of the full-length mirror in their room to complete his outfit that morning. He looked like a walking sex god, and the fact that they'd been having sex until the wee hours of the morning only emphasised Marco's opinion.

  "Well," Marco's cheeks were pink from both the wind and running, and his hair was all tousled. He looked so cute, and Jean had to squash the urge to toss him on the bed, strip him and have his way with him. "I got to ride the London Eye, and take some pictures of the Thames. Oh, and I went up Big Ben--"

  "Elizabeth Tower," Jean corrected.

  "Big Ben," Marco said stubbornly. "And I had fish and chips out of a newspaper for lunch."

  "Did you have fun?" the blonde sipped his whiskey. Business meetings put stiffness in his shoulders and neck, and the whiskey was taking the worst of the aches away.

  "Yes," It had been lonely to see all the attractions by himself, and knowing that he would not have Jean for company when he went to Buckingham Palace tomorrow was a little saddening. But he didn't want to be a burden for Jean, who was already so stressed. Marco approached Jean, and leaned down to kiss him. It was tender, and light, nothing at all like the passionate, lust-driven ones they'd exchanged hours ago. "Thank you for bringing me along with you."

  "Bringing you along with me was pure selfishness on my part," Jean grinned lazily at him, and tugged him down for a more heated kiss. "You're the only thing that keeps me awake during the meetings with the old farts."

  "You like the old farts," Marco reminded him, remembering how Jean would tell him about the helpful guidance they had given him during his training. "Don't complain about them."

  "Doesn't mean they're not old and boring," Jean grumbled, pulling Marco down on the couch so he could cuddle with his freckled lover. "Where do you want to eat for dinner?"

  "I thought about it," Marco smoothed Jean's hair from his face, admiring Jean's facial structure with its high, defined cheekbones, strong jaw and masculine features with a honest artistic appreciation, tinged with lover's bias. He was entitled, wasn't he? "But then I decided that we could just have room service."

  "Are you sure?" Jean's brow wrinkled, despite the dark circles of exhaustion under his tawny eyes. "But--"

  "I'm tired from walking around all day," Marco declared, although he felt like he could walk the whole length of Thames just to capture the night view. However, Jean was tired from lack of sleep (Marco hadn't slept all that much, either) and from conducting business all day. He couldn't be selfish (unlike Jean, who was mumbling barely coherent nonsense about going to The Mercer into Marco's neck) and drag Jean all over town. "Let's eat in."

  "I'll just get some soup and coffee," Jean groaned, releasing Marco to fetch the room service menu. "I need to go over the annual sales report later and give my statement for it."

Jean had legally succeeded his father for a month now, and the barrage of work that came with the territory was giving Jean little to no sleep since he insisted on making love to Marco in all his free time. As a result, he was now perpetually weary. He didn't even stir on the turbulent flight from Charles De Gaulle to Heathrow, his head bouncing on Marco's shoulder during the one and a half hour ride. He slept like the dead within seconds, and Marco had to push him out of bed just to wake him up that morning even though he'd only been asleep for half an hour after climaxing inside Marco. He didn't even pull out before he'd collapsed on top of Marco and just dozed off, and left the freckled man with the embarrassing task of pulling himself off Jean's dick. It made him half-erect, but Jean wasn't awake to take care of it and Marco just tucked the poor man into bed and set the alarm for fifteen minutes.

  "Did you eat lunch?" Marco called from the next room where the phone was.

  "I had a sandwich." It was only half a sandwich, since he didn't have time to finish the other half before more paperwork had been brought in and dumped on his desk.

  "Hi," Marco greeted the hotel operator. "Can I get room service for room 2109? Yes, I'd like a grilled chicken salad... a smoked salmon... and an espresso, please. Thank you."

  "I said I only wanted soup," Jean glared at his boyfriend when he came back into the room.

  "You're going to eat a proper meal whether you like it or not," Marco kissed his boyfriend's cheek before curling up against him. The blonde automatically held him against his own body, but he was still disgruntled.

  "I'm not hungry," Jean complained. His stomach chose that very moment to growl contradictorily.

  "Is that so?" Marco drawled. "Then I'll just keep that grilled chicken salad all for myself, then."

  "Okay, now you're just playing dirty," Jean poked Marco in the side where he knew the freckled man was ticklish.

  "So you'll eat it?" Marco giggled, squirming.

  "Fine," Jean pressed a loud, wet smooch to his cheek. "But only because you asked so nicely."

* * *

 

  "...n? Jean, baby, wake up."

Jean moaned and sluggishly began to push himself upright. "Wha...?"

  "You fell asleep," Marco's voice was drowsy, but he was smiling languidly at the blonde. "Come to bed if you're tired, Jean."

  "Nngh," Jean glared sleepily at his laptop, its screen still bright. It was just past two in the morning now. "I still haven't finished my work."

  "You won't be finishing anything if you don't go to bed and get some rest," Marco scolded gently, tugging on Jean's arm. He was still wearing his button-down shirt and tailored pants. "Come on."

Jean yawned and followed his boyfriend to bed, too tired to argue anyway. He peeled off his clothes until he was wearing only his briefs (his boxers would show if he wore them under his slim-fit pants, something that had annoyed the blonde greatly about wearing suits), and climbed into bed beside Marco. They started to doze off in a spooning position, with Jean being the big spoon and Marco being the little spoon as always.

Then Marco remembered what had woken him up in the first place such that he'd seen Jean slumped over his laptop in slumber.

  "Hey, Jean?" he murmured.

  "Mmfgh?"

  "Should we have kids?"

Marco fell asleep after that, but Jean was very _, very_ awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *manic giggling*


	3. I Am Sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the end of last chapter, Marco apparently wants kids. So how will Jean react?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEEDED THIS

  "You're absolutely sure about this?"

They had already filled out the paperwork and passed the social worker's test, so Jean was posing a useless question. But Marco, with his endless well of patience, obliged it nevertheless.

  "Yes, Jean," Marco smiled blithely. "I'm absolutely, 100% sure. And don't worry, I know how to change a diaper even if you don't."

Jean grumbled something like "wiseass" and trailed after Marco as the latter eagerly followed the social worker through the foyer of the dimly lit building. It was rundown, and in serious need of maintenance, because most of the funds were channeled into taking care of its ever-growing number of residents. The couple (well, Marco mostly) were hoping to reduce the number of residents by one today.

The blonde had taken time out of his hectic work schedule so he could help Marco translate the French social worker's questions, and to fill out his share of the forms. Their home, now removed of anything that would endanger a child of any age, had been redecorated and Jean's old room had been turned into a cheery, bright nursery with all the necessary equipment for taking care of a child under the age of three. That was the maximum age that they had settled on, because they wanted a child that could imprint on them without difficulty.

Even though Jean had voiced his doubts about child-rearing, and suggested getting a dog as a trial run instead, Marco had deflected all of them. He pointed out that since he didn't have a regular job like Jean did and was left alone most of the day when Jean was out for meetings, he could be a full-time parent. He didn't tell Jean that he wanted to raise a child so Jean could have the option of a heir, even if the option wasn't of the Kirschstein blood. He had never been able to chase away that particular niggling sense of anxiety over his inability to get pregnant and produce offspring with both his and Jean's blood. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and as the couple were led into the nursery where they kept the youngest of the orphanage residents, Marco felt like his beggar heart was melting.

Infants, crying, laughing or simply staring varied in ages from newborns to 3 years of age. They all regarded Marco and Jean curiously, wondering what these two strangers were doing in their territory. When a baby girl burst into tears at the sight of Jean's face, Marco giggled. The blonde was practically dead on his feet, with bloodshot eyes, dark circles under them, and unkempt hair. He had spent most of last night finishing the last of one month's worth of work so he could take that one month off and spend it with Marco and their newly-adopted child.

Marco wandered between the cribs, uncertain of what he was looking for yet absolutely sure that he would know on sight. Jean, too tired to follow him now, just collapsed on a chair near the door and observed his boyfriend.

He was hopeful, hopeful then fast losing hope as he covered almost the whole room and none of them seemed to stand out to Marco. They were all a blur of tiny faces, mouths open in screams or curiosity. Dark-skinned, fair-skinned, blonde, brunette, redhead... he was beginning to think he would have to change his mind about the whole deal when he stopped in front of the very last cot in the far corner of the big room. The corner didn't get any sunlight like the other cots did, and the child sitting inside could not have been older than ten months. Yet he was clearly sitting up (albeit swaying slightly) and regarding Marco with bright, intelligent eyes. They were a dark brown, and reminded Marco of the wet bark of trees drenched in spring showers or melted dark chocolate in the coldest of winters. But what had struck Marco the most was the striking resemblance he bore to Jean with his flyaway, tufty mop of hair. Even though it was clearly blond, if you looked harder at the roots, you would notice quite easily that they were a conflicting dark brown. So if Marco had his head shaved into an undercut, he would be like a miniature carbon copy of Jean, except for the eyes.

  "So you like him, huh?" the French social worker appeared beside him, her English thickly accented and awkward. "I am surprised by your choice. This one returned to us twice. The previous foster parents thought he would be quiet and no trouble at all... but they say that when they put him to bed at night, he would not stop crying. He never has that problem here, so we never understood why. Fools, those foster parents. They think a child is like a toy. If they do not like it because it does not work the way they want, they think they can return it like a child is not a living human being."

  "He seems fairly placid," Marco said carefully. "Can I hold him?"

  "Of course," the social worker just carelessly scooped him up and plopped him into Marco's arms. The freckled man was flustered and bewildered as to how one should hold a child properly, but he found his arms slipping instinctively to support the infant's head and neck. The baby boy continued to focus on Marco with an almost unnatural intensity. HIs gaze reminded Marco of... Jean, when he was staring at Marco. Like he was doing at that very moment.

Jean levered himself up off his knees, stretched a little and approached the pair. "So, this is him?"

Marco showed Jean the little boy, who refused to look at Jean but instead preferred to focus on Marco. "Isn't he adorable?"

  "You're adorable," Jean grumbled. "But at least you won't cry in the middle of the night for absolutely no fucking reason. Okay, maybe you do sometimes. But it's not without a good--"

  "Jean," Marco shot his boyfriend a reproachful look.

  "Alright," the blonde sighed. "Let me have a proper look at the little bugger."

Marco angled the baby's head so he would look at Jean, and apparently he didn't like what he saw because he screwed up his face. Yet he didn't burst into tears, so that was something. The freckled man begin to chuckle, because the baby's face was a mirror of Jean's expression.

  "He has my hair," Jean noticed. "Maybe he's a long-lost relative of mine from a distant relation?"

  "Maybe," Marco stroked the baby's cheek with his thumb, and the baby nuzzled against Marco's digit.

Jean stood back, and decided to just enjoy the view. He never realised seeing his boyfriend holding a baby that looked like him could be so... thrilling. Yes, it made his heart flare with joy, because they were here, now and happy. Then he glanced at the baby, and noticed something that had slipped past him the first time.

  "Hey, check it out," Jean tapped the little boy's nose bridge. "The little brat's got freckles like you,  _chéri_."

  "That's so precious," Marco sighed in wonder. "Jean, we  _have to_ take him home."

  "But you heard the social worker! He'll start to cry--"

  "I don't think so," Marco kissed the baby's forehead impulsively. "I have a feeling that this was meant to be."

A woman with lines creasing her face bustled in, all efficiency and exuding a motherly air. She spotted them, gave them a polite nod, then noticed the baby they were holding. Her brows drew together in a furious glare, and Marco staggered back a few steps in fright when she came stalking over with that livid expression. She fired off a series of questions in French so rapidly that Jean, still slightly slow on the uptake from a lack of sleep, just stared at her in confused stupor. She repeated her questions, slower this time, and Jean's brows snapped together in a disbelieving frown. He answered her questions with a question, and she seemed to tell him something that had Jean taking the baby from Marco's arms and laying him down on the cot.

  "Jean? Jean, what are you--"

Jean stripped the onesie off the baby, and Marco gasped.

Purplish scars from welts and little white ones that had come from deep cuts and never quite healed over properly canvassed the infant's torso. When he kicked his feet in discontent because he was cold without the onesie, Marco had to cover his mouth to stop himself from moaning in sickened horror. The soles of the baby's feet were covered in cigarette burns.

Jean grabbed Marco before he could collapse, and tried to soothe the freckled man's sobs.

  "The caretaker said that the reason they took him back was because his previous foster parents kept abusing him for not going to sleep at night," Jean said tightly. "They tried to file a lawsuit against those people, but they would escape by migrating from the country. She suspects that they were serial abusers, because when they went to visit him, they saw the other foster kids who looked frightened and miserable. They wanted to help those kids, but the foster parents fled with them and they couldn't be tracked down."

  "Jean," Marco whispered shakily, tears of empathetic pain overflowing from his eyes. His heart felt like it had been stabbed when he saw the wounds on such a young child, and now as the baby began to cry from being cold without his clothes, his heart twisted. "We have to take him home with us. You know that."

Jean looked up at the caretaker, who was still frowning at them. He told her something in French, and Marco was too busy crying and putting the onesie back on the baby to hear their exchange or bother to pick up any familiar terms.

Marco picked up the baby, and cradled him against his chest. He kissed his soft, downy cap of hair, noticing that he smelled like talcum.

  "She says she wants to personally visit us every three days," Jean said, somewhat put out. "Just to check that we're not the same as the other foster parents." He didn't tell Marco that she had called them something worse.

  "She's welcome to," Marco said fiercely, overcome with such a protective instinct that Jean was taken aback. "We'll make sure that no one ever harms Luca again."

* * *

 

The sound of a baby's giggling and Jean making weird noises woke up Marco.

He checked the LED clock on the nightstand, and groaned when he saw that it was just past three in the morning. The lights were on in the living room, casting a faint glow in the hallway outside the bedroom he shared with Jean. He considered going back to sleep, but couldn't help smiling when he heard Jean talking softly in his mother's native tongue to the baby, and heard the baby coo in response. So he climbed out of bed, feeling stiff muscles and bones creak in protest, and tugged on a bathrobe.

Jean was lying on the couch, with Luca bellying on his chest. The baby was squealing as he put his fingers in Jean's mouth and the older blonde made 'nom'-ing noises, pretending to eat the tiny fingers. Marco leaned against the wall of the hallway as he smiled and watched them interact.

When Luca had been brought home over a month ago, the baby had been so stoic, Marco was concerned. It was almost like he was waiting for them to do their worst, to do the same as his previous foster parents did. As if by some intelligent yet sad understanding that this was how his life was to be. He didn't, or couldn't smile, and never cried. Not even when he bombed his diapers or was hungry. Marco just had to estimate or smell his bottom, to ensure he didn't stink or starve. No matter how he tried to play with Luca, the infant never showed any other reaction except to stare at Marco, and Marco began to understand. He was waiting for the violence to start.

Marco's heart would flare with indignant, protective anger, and he wished he could track down those evil foster parents and rescue their other charges before throwing them in the deepest pits of hell. He had never wished such vicious things on anyone, but found that where his baby boy was concerned, he was capable of that and more.

And Jean? Well, Jean would complain that Marco wasn't giving him any attention, since he spent almost all his time taking care of Luca in his nursery. He would grumble a bit before sitting on the playmat with them and throwing Luca up in the air, then catching him again. Luca would look stunned, and his eyes would shine even if he didn't smile. So Marco let Jean do it, even if his heart did freeze every time Jean did it because he was worried that the blonde would miss and Luca would sustain some terrible injury. Jean would tell Marco about his day as he threw Luca over his shoulder like a caveman, and Marco would smile because he knew Jean was jealous of the baby for taking up Marco's attention that once had been devoted entirely to the older blonde, even if he would never admit it.

Weeks passed, with the caretaker dropping in to check on them and give a grunt of approval when she saw that Luca was okay.

Slowly, Luca began to realise that Jean and Marco weren't going to hurt him in any way. He knew that the big blonde man was always fun and gave him that funny feeling in his stomach when he tossed him up in the air, and would pretend to eat him and talk to him like he was a grown man who understood what he was saying. He liked the man with funny spots on his face, with kind eyes and gentle hands that patted him until he burped, and would kiss his cheeks and play with him tirelessly.

When Luca gave his first smile, Marco had fairly shrieked and called Jean over to see the sight. When he gave his first belly-deep giggle, because Marco was tickling him relentlessly, Marco had cried, and Jean had thrown Luca up in the air in joy.

  "Did you two even sleep at all?" Marco yawned, approaching the couch.

  "Hey,  _mon chéri,_ " Jean took the baby's fingers out of his mouth. "Sorry if we woke you up."

  "It's fine," Marco knelt by the couch and smiled as he lightly poked Luca's chubby cheek. The infant had gained weight and filled out under Marco's watchful care, and lost the haggard look a baby should never have. "Hey, sweetie. Did you wake Daddy up?"

  "I was still awake when he started to make noises," Jean didn't tell Marco that Luca had been whimpering in his sleep. No need to make him worry excessively. He also didn't tell Marco that he had private investigators tracking Luca's previous foster parents, dead-set on getting justice on behalf of his son. "I thought he would be hungry, but apparently not since he's been trying to feed me with himself for the last fifteen minutes."

  "I thought I told you both to go to sleep hours ago," Marco scolded, scooping Luca off Jean's chest. The baby protested until Marco held him to his own chest, and he calmed down when he heard Marco's steady, rhythmic heartbeat with his ear pressed against Marco's torso.

  "Well," Jean stretched, joints cracking. "I have a presentation to give tomorrow, and then I have to go to San Francisco next week to oversee the operations at the branch office there. Speaking of which, do you want to come with me?"

Luca was old enough to travel now, but Marco was more concerned about the effect of high altitude on the baby. He would be unable to pop his ears if the need ever arose and would cry until the other passengers were bothered and upset. But Jean saw the worry on his lover's face, and kissed his forehead.

  "I'll borrow my dad's private jet," Jean assured him. "I think he's in Hong Kong with my mom right now for the month, so he wouldn't mind if I used it."

  "Are you sure?" Marco rocked Luca, hoping to get him to sleep. "I don't want to bother your parents."

  "It's fine," Jean said dismissively. "Besides, it's the least my dad could do after all the shit he gave me to handle when he retired. And technically that jet is part of my inheritance, it's just that my dad uses it more than I do for his so-called 'pilgrimage of the world'."

  "Alright then," Marco relented, and was relieved to see that Luca had dozed off. "I'll have to see if I can find a bag big enough to carry all of Luca's toys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am borrowing johannathemad 's Luca because I adore Luca, and I know it's highly unrealistic to find a baby with two-toned hair and freckles. But it was either that, or surrogacy. AND THAT WOULD TAKE FOREvER AND I HAVE AM IGHTY NEED SO THERE.


	4. I Forgot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luca's first time travelling with his daddies, and how does it go in San Francisco?

Luca babbled gleefully at Marco, patting his father's freckled cheeks with joyful abandon.

  "You're so noisy," Marco teased, and kissed the 11-month old boy on the nose. "Aren't you? Aren't you, you little cutie?"

They had just glided off the tarmac, the private jet coasting into the air effortlessly. Luca had squealed as the plane took off, the change in direction making his tummy feel a little funny, but he didn't cry because he knew he was safe when Marco held him securely under the black strap. Now, in the cream, blue and wood interior of the small plane that accommodated only a cabin crew of one, two pilots and three passengers, Luca was demanded his daddy's attention instead of playing with his toys.

  "Hey, now," Marco grabbed the little boy before he toppled off the walnut table that had become his throne, covered in Luca's portable foam play-mat and his favourite toys, determined to climb onto Jean. Jean, who happened to be fast asleep (and snoring) in the padded seat opposite Marco. The freckled man had draped a blanket around his shoulders, and he didn't even stir. "Don't wake up Daddy. He didn't sleep at last night, sweetie. Let him rest."

Trying to distract the stubborn baby, he lifted Luca's infant wear and blew a raspberry on his pudgy little belly. Luca shrieked in delight, and Marco winced at his pitch.

  "Hnngh--wha...?" Jean blinked sleepily, and the blanket slipped from his shoulders. "A-are we there yet?"

  "No, no," Marco sighed, tugging down Luca's shirt. "Go back to sleep, babe. I'm sorry we woke you--"

  "It's cool," Jean gave him a drowsy ( _and sexy as hell, for that matter_ , Marco thought) smile and reached for Luca. Marco carefully put him into Jean's arms, and the blonde snuggled up with the little boy.

Luca, now content that he had gotten his other daddy's attention, tugged at Jean's overgrown hair (he could probably tie it back up into a ponytail now if he tried) and cooed. Jean planted a loud and wet smooch on his son's cheek, and screwed up his nose to rub it against Luca's, who laughed his belly-deep giggle. They looked like a genuine father and son pair, what with their matching haircuts now. Just goofing around, having fun and bonding.

 _This,_ Marco thought contentedly, watching the two of them interact.  _This is happiness._

The smaller blonde buried his face in Jean's neck, and yawned. His eyelids, gossamer little things, began to flutter as he struggled to stay awake. It was way past his bedtime, and the excitement of travelling for the first time was wearing off. If he didn't get to sleep immediately, he would start getting cranky.

  "Oh, he's finally sleepy," Marco held out his hands for Luca. "I'll put him--"

  "It's fine," Jean hugged the baby tighter in his arms, covering the back of Luca's head with his hand. His hand was so big, and Luca's head so small and fragile, that it covered Luca's head like a helmet. "We can sleep like this."

  "Don't drop him," Marco warned, getting up to cover them both with the blanket. Luca fussed a bit, but accepted his fate to curl up against his daddy with his head resting in the warm curve where Jean's neck met his shoulder. He dozed, mumbling incoherent baby noises.

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jean said wryly, caressing the spot behind Luca's left ear with his thumb. The baby made sleepy noises of contentment, and promptly fell asleep. His back rose and fell slightly in a slow rhythm, indicating that he was already getting some REM.

  "Goodnight, love."

  "Goodnight,  _mon cœur_. You should get some rest, too. Tomorrow is a big day."

* * *

 

Hefting the strap of Luca's baby necessities carrier up his shoulder, Marco cradled Luca in his other arm securely and began to alight the small jet onto the tarmac runway of San Francisco International Airport. It was an hour to noon, and Marco could feel the jet lag lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the appropriate time to strike. Luca, too young to be susceptible to it, was making snuffling noises in his sleep.

Jean followed behind him closely, carrying all their luggage that comprised of two compact suitcases. The trip was only going to last slightly shorter than a week, and one entire suitcase had been devoted to Jean's 'job costumes'.

  "Are we getting a taxi or...?" Marco asked after they passed through immigration, his voice trailing off as he saw a familiar face in the crowd at the Arrival hall. It was one that attracted a lot of second glances, and was pissed at being kept waiting.

  "What took you so long?" Evangeline punched Jean's shoulder when they got within close range. She hugged Marco, cooed softly to Luca (still sleeping, entirely oblivious to his aunt's shenanigans), and then punched Jean's shoulder again for good measure.

  "Immigration checkpoint was crowded," Marco apologised when Jean grumbled, rubbing his shoulder where she had hit him. She evidently hadn't lost her touch. "How did you--"

  "Jean called ahead," Evangeline seemed surprised that her brother hadn't told his boyfriend of the arrangement, and caught her brother's exaggerated gestures behind Marco. "He... didn't want you and Luca to stay at some stuffy hotel. You lot are bunking in with me this week."

  "That doesn't sound foreboding...at all," Marco half-joked. He had stayed with Evangeline once before in one of the many residences that the Kirschsteins invested in all over the world (apparently they had a villa in Bali, and Jean's parents had invited them to come over so they could meet baby Luca), and it had been a... wild ride, to say the least.

  "You're welcome," she ignored his halfhearted jab. "Do you want me to carry anything?"

  "Don't let her carry Luca," Jean said darkly. "She'll drop him on his head, and think it's perfectly okay."

  "I will not!"

  "Will too."

  "Will not!"

  "You so will!"

  "Will not! And you talk like a pissbaby for someone who's supposed to be the head honcho of an international conglomerate."

  "Do you even  _know_ what I do?"

Their sibling banter, something Marco dearly enjoyed watching but hadn't realised how much he missed watching, woke Luca up. Cranky from the rude awakening, he began to fuss.

  "Evangeline!" Marco interrupted their fight by handing her the carrier with Luca's things inside. "Help me take this."

  "Oh, sorry!" she winced as Luca's fussing escalated into a full-blown wail, making the other travellers and people in the hall stare in varying expressions of curiosity and disdain. "Come on, let's go."

She led them to her car, and Jean groaned when spotted the Audi A5 Cabriolet.

  "Of all the cars in your garage, you had to drive this one to pick us up," Jean sighed, popping the boot.

  "Well, it was this or the Murcielago."

  "Dad gave you the Murcielago?" Jean gaped at his baby sister, who stuck her tongue out at him in a bratty retort.

Luca's had dwindled to grumpy sobs during the walk to the flashy convertible, but in the face of another Kirschstein sibling fight, he started howling again.

  "Will you two quit it?" Marco said exasperatedly, desperately trying to calm Luca down by patting his back. "Just get in the car!"

Chastened, the siblings did as they were told and Evangeline started up the engine. It purred like a motorised cat, and Luca was intrigued enough to stop crying.

  "Prrrr," Luca attempted to imitate the car, red face and tears notwithstanding. He began to giggle, patting the car seat as Marco strapped him under his own seat belt. "Prrrr."

  "Like a kitty," Marco, relieved that his infant son had calmed down, obliged his interest. "Prrr."

  "He's so cute I think I'm going to cry," Evangeline pulled out of the lot without checking for oncoming vehicles, and Jean flicked her ear.

Jean leaned an elbow on the seat to look back at his sweetheart and son imitating the car engine, and had to laugh.

  "Have you even asked him?" Evangeline hissed at him, unable to be heard by Marco since he was busy entertaining Luca and her voice was just barely over the car engine noise.

  " _Merde_ ," Jean cussed when he realised that in the hubbub of planning and preparations for the trip, he'd forgotten to ask Marco the most important questions. He had half an hour before they reached the Kirschstein's San Francisco residence, where arrangements had been made and waited for their arrival.

  "Marco?" Jean called, and the freckled man looked up from Luca's head, which he had been gently stroking.

  "Hm?"

  "Will you marry me?"

Marco's jaw dropped.

  "You might wanna say yes," Evangeline added in, ignoring her brother's scowl. "Because if you don't, we're kind of screwed."

 


	5. My Vow To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean has arranged a surprise for Marco, but is Marco even going to accept it?

  "What?" Marco spluttered, barely managing to hold on to Luca. The little boy in question was squirming away, eager to pat the 'kitty' by way of the car seat.

  "Will you marry me?" Jean repeated, now grinning like a madman. He had no doubt that Marco would say yes, cocky and confident that he was. But if Marco didn't say yes  _now..._ well, there would be a little snag in the plans.

  "Say yes,  _mon Dieu!"_ Evangeline bellowed, and Jean rolled his eyes at her intervention. "We're almost at the house!"

They were going at 80 on the urban freeway now, with the wind whipping their hair from the faces and Luca's cheeks turning a rosy pink.

  "Slow down! You're gonna get us killed!" Jean glared at his sister, who shrugged.

  "Jean?" Marco whispered. "Did you just...?"

  "Say yes,  _mon chéri_ ," Jean reached behind him to hold Marco's hand, and turned back to look at him.

  "Yes," Marco murmured, half to himself. Then he looked up at Jean, and his face broke into a beatific smile like the sun breaking through the clouds. "Yes."

  "Thank you,  _mon cœur_ ," Jean grinned. "Because we'd be knee-deep in the shit of awkward right now if you didn't say yes."

Marco was bewildered as Evangeline pulled over in front of a modern-looking yet comfortably compact bungalow on a street that sloped downwards. She yanked the brakes with carelessness that made Jean wince, and hopped out.

  "Welcome to the San Francisco Kirschstein residence!" she declared, popping the boot. "Enjoy your stay with us and please try not the feed the dogs chocolate."

  "Mom let you keep dogs in the house?" Jean whirled on her, jaw dropping.

  "On the condition that they were toilet-trained and vaccinated," Evangeline shrugged, passing her brother his luggage. "And that if they ruined any of her furniture, I was going to have to pay for new ones out of my own allowance."

  "How many are there?" Jean asked nervously, when he heard the welcoming barks of multiple dogs.

  "Um..." she mentally counted them in her head.  _Dreizehn, Atlas, Mason, Sunday..._ "Four boys, I think? It's the cats that come and go."

  "I hate cats," Jean shuddered.

  "I'll make sure to put out the cat food more often, then," she grinned wickedly, taking out the house keys.

  "Jean, why did you...?" Marco trailed off as Evangeline unlocked the door and ushered them inside.

  " _Surprise/Congrats!"_

 "Connie, you ass," Sasha, looking very pregnant and glowing with it, scolded her husband. "We agreed on 'surprise'."

  "Didn't get the memo," he shrugged, still sporting the same hairstyle he had in university but now he had faint lines creasing the corners of his eyes. He grinned at Jean and Marco. "Hey, dudes. Were you surprised?"

Jean rolled his eyes.

Marco simply goggled at the amount of people crammed into the entryway of the Kirschstein's house. He recognised some of the faces, but not all:

Reiner and Bertholdt, Ymir and Christa, Eren and Armin and Mikasa, Levi and Erwin... and Marco's family. Well, most of them anyway.

  "Mom? Dad?" Marco's grip on Luca tightened unconsciously. "Marie?"

  "Marcel couldn't make it, sweetie. He had a conference to attend in New York," Mrs. Bodt came forward and hugged her son tightly, then cooed over Luca. He seemed taken aback by the attention of this strange woman, and began to whimper, looking to Marco for help. "He's so precious. Luca, right?"

  "Yes. It means 'light'," he jiggled Luca a bit to calm him down.

Jean went around exchanging bro-hugs, fist-bumps and just generally greeting everyone.

  "Did he say yes?" Reiner wanted to know.

  "Yeah, about two minutes ago," Evangeline rolled her eyes and squeezed past them into the living room. Her older brother shot her a dirty look as his friends began to laugh at him.

  "It's so good to see you again, Marco," Sasha said warmly, coming forward to hug him. "Ooh, Luca is so cute! He looks only slightly younger than my Peter."

  "Hey, Marco," Bertholdt smiled shyly. Marco smiled back, and the two exchanged knowing looks.

They traded greetings, catching up on what had happened since the last time they'd met as a group. It had been years, but no one mentioned the events that had unfolded after Marco left Jean during university.

Instead, they talked about other things: their jobs, their families, their lives in general. It was a hubbub of excitement, congratulations and happiness.

  "Thank you," Mrs. Bodt came forward and hugged Jean, who looked startled but hugged her back. "Thank you for everything."

  "It was my mess," Jean grinned crookedly at the small woman. "I clean up after myself."

  "Did you just call me a mess?" Marco wrinkled his nose.

  "An adorable mess," Jean kissed his nose.

Mrs. Bodt seemed to approve, while her husband just shook his head and returned to his newspaper.

  " _Maman_ and  _papa_ can't make it until tomorrow noon," Evangeline called from the kitchen. "They'll be in time for the ceremony, though."

  "Wait, what ceremony?" Marco looked at Jean, confused.

  "Well," Jean rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. "I had to be in San Fran for work anyway, so I figured... why not get it done while we're here?"

  "He's been planning this for weeks already," Bertholdt assured Marco. "He called us all up to make sure we had time to come down and attend. It wasn't a last minute thing."

  "And he paid for our plane tickets here," Mr. Bodt added gruffly.

Marco could only gape at Jean. "Jean Kirschstein. You've been planning this for weeks, and you only thought to propose fifteen minutes ago?"

Everyone burst into laughter.

  "It kind of slipped my mind," Jean said apologetically. "Sorry,  _chéri_."

  "You big idiot," Marco threw his free arm around Jean's neck and kissed him with more ardor than he ever had in his life when he initiated a kiss. Luca was squished between them, and he didn't like it very much.

  "Sorry, kiddo," Jean scooped a whining Luca up from Marco's arms and threw him up in the air. His whines immediately turned into squeals of delight. "There we go."

Everyone milled about, conversing with one another, laughing about old jokes, reminiscing about their days on the university MMA team.

  "Adrien and Ajax Smith, you two get your butts off that carpet and stop rolling around with those filthy mutts!" Levi snapped from the living room, his voice carrying.

  "I just washed them yesterday!" Evangeline hollered from the kitchen where the muffled sound of a minor explosion followed.

  "Relax, Levi," Erwin patted his husband's shoulder. "It's not everyday the kids get to play with dogs this clean."

Levi shot him an incredulous look.

Marco looked inside said living room, and smiled.

Tussling with four big dogs of varying colours and breeds, were about six children. They shouted, screamed, laughed and played, while the dogs made noises varying from ecstasy to distress.

  "Woof," Luca clapped his hands at the dogs, and Jean plopped him in the crook of his elbow. "Puppy."

  "Is it safe for him to...?" Marco trailed off as one of the youngest kids, who couldn't be older than two and looked like a miniature male Sasha, shrieked in grossed-out delight as an intimidating Doberman Pinscher gave him a long lick from his chin to his scalp.

  "Yep, it's safe," Jean nodded. "Evangeline would never take in dogs that aren't friendly and bite."

He walked over and set Luca down at the edge of the tussle, keeping him out of the worst of it and sitting behind him so he didn't get knocked over by the dogs or the other kids. An aggrieved looking Shetland Sheepdog crawled out from the dog-and-kids pile, clearly not interested in playing rough and tumble games like his brothers from other breeds.

  "Puppy," Luca cooed, then whimpered as the Shetland came closer, intrigued by this tiny, not-shrieking human bean. "Uhnn..."

Jean held Luca by the sides, ready to lift him out of harm's way at the first sign of danger, but he knew the infant had nothing to fear from this intelligent dog. "It's okay, Luca. He's not going to hurt you."

The dog's collar told him that his name was Atlas.

  "Say Atlas," Jean whispered to Luca, who was still scared of the dog's big teeth when he opened his mouth to let his tongue hang.

  "Puppy," Luca said mournfully, turning to Jean for safety, big brown eyes brimming with tears.

The dog snuck closer, aware of Luca's fear and nosed his tummy. Luca started to cry in terror, but the dog started to lick his cheek and the little boy was too startled by the display of affection to cry anymore.

  "Puppy," Luca declared, no longer frightened, and patted the dog's muzzle not-too-gently. But Atlas didn't seem to mind this less noisy human bean, and curled up with him.

  "You can take him home if you want," Evangeline swooped by with snacks and rubbed the spot behind Atlas' ears where all big dogs keep their souls. Atlas hummed happily. "He's a big sweetheart, and he's a pretty decent guard dog, if you give him a little more training. Plus he's the most patient out of them all, besides Dreizehn."

  "Why'd you name a dog 'thirteen'?" Jean's brow wrinkled.

  "Saw it in some book or movie somewhere, and the name stuck anyway," Evangeline shrugged, whisking away the snacks to serve other people before Jean could grab one.

  "Should we?" Marco appeared beside Jean to sit down on the carpet with his now-fiancé and he stroked Luca's downy cap of hair as the baby gurgled and babbled baby talk to the dog, who wagged his tail in patient attentiveness.

  "I'll think about it," Jean murmured. "It'll be nice to have a dog at home to guard you two when I'm out on business meetings."

  "Think about it," Marco agreed, watching as the baby and the dog bonded with incredible, heartwarming ease.

* * *

 

  "Tired,  _chéri_?" Jean mumbled, pressing his lips to Marco's neck as he slipped his arms around his to-be husbands' waist from behind.

Dinner had been a rowdy affair that spilled out to the backyard in a barbecue party. Kids and dogs weaved between legs, around adults and trampled the grass Evangeline hadn't bothered to mow. Jean and Marco had watched everyone enjoy themselves and eat over-cooked sausages, buffalo wings and grilled corn, with plastic plates in their hands and Luca in Jean's lap as he smeared baby food all over his face.

Then everyone left to their respective hotels, or their houses (Levi and Erwin lived about six streets away, to Jean's surprise). Reiner and Bertholdt were staying in the attic guest room of the Kirschstein's residence, and they had disappeared there in the last half hour before all the other guests started to leave. No one bothered to guess where they'd gone or why.

  "Happy tired," Marco smiled, tilting his head back against Jean as he closed his eyes and let the blonde nose his ear.

Luca was sound asleep on their bed, and Atlas was nestled around him protectively.

  "Think we can get in some action tonight?" Jean asked. Almost as if by comedic timing, the sounds of Reiner and Bertholdt going at it upstairs echoed into their room.

  " _Ugh, fuck. You're tight, Bertl."_ Reiner groaned.

  " _Do it harder."_ was Bertholdt's panted reply.

Marco turned crimson, and Jean laughed.

  "Strawberry," Jean kissed his cheek. "Think we can outdo them?"

  "Luca's here!"

  "Give me a moment," Jean winked at him.

He swiftly scooped Luca up before the baby could stir and vanished out the door. His charge having disappeared, Atlas got up and followed the pair out.

Marco, not knowing what to expect and too tired to be surprised, had only just sat down on the bed when Jean returned with a wicked grin.

  "I left Luca with Evangeline," Jean announced, climbing onto the bed.

  "Is that safe?" Marco was genuinely concerned. He loved Evangeline as if she were his own sister, he really did. But that just made him all the more aware of how... careless she could be sometimes.

  "She's good with kids under the age of five," Jean waved away his concerns. "She'd sooner set herself on fire than let Luca hurt himself."

  "That's reassuring," Marco muttered as Jean approached him with a mischievous, lust-driven look in his tawny eyes. "Just a couple of hours ago, you were telling me not to let her carry Luca in case she dropped him on his head."

  "Stop worrying," Jean murmured, and kissed Marco flush on the lips. The darker-haired man moaned under his boyfriend's--correction,  _fiancé's_ lips.

  "Jean," Marco breathed his lover's name like a prayer as the blonde gently pushed him onto his back.

  "When was the last time we had each other all to ourselves like this?" Jean licked Marco's earlobe, and proceeded to drop passionate kisses in a line down to the hollow in his throat. Marco shuddered.

  "Way too long ago," Marco gasped, his back arching as Jean lifted his shirt to suck his nipple.

Jean lavished attention on that one hardening nipple with his mouth, caressing it with his tongue and gently grazing his teeth over it. His hand moved south to rub Marco's swelling crotch.

  "Jean!" Marco groaned, fisting the blonde's hair.

  "Tell me what you want,  _mon coœur_ ," Jean gave one last affection suck to the nipple, and the freckled man was straining against his jeans.

  "T-take off my pants," Marco whimpered. "Take it off."

Jean grinned and with vexing, tantalising slowness, peeled them off. "Now what?"

  "Take yours off."

  "With pleasure," Jean kissed the bulging crotch of Marco's briefs, and proceeded to pull of his own clothes in an erotic striptease.

  "Touch me," Marco begged.

  "Always," Jean spread Marco's legs, and bent them at the knees so they rest on Jean's shoulders. He went down on his fabulous abs, and started to ravish Marco's erection with his mouth while it was still encased in its 100% cotton prison.

Marco started to writhe, a hot, sexy mess still in his shirt pulled up to his chest and underwear soaking wet with pre-come.

Jean pressed a thumb against Marco's entrance, rubbing the cotton. Marco started to mewl in want, hips trembling and rutting up against Jean's mouth.

  "Take it off, Jean," Marco pleaded. "Hurry."

Jean, for the first time, ignored his lover and continued to slide his tongue over the slit of Marco's penis, the cotton between them adding more friction than the freckled man could stand. He panted and whined and begged, but Jean just watched him with his pale amber eyes as he nibbled Marco's shaft. Without warning, he tugged down the briefs and swallowed it whole.

  " _Jean_!" Marco barely managed to suppress a scream as the blonde sucked hard and took it all the way to the back of his throat. The freckled man so badly wanted to jerk his hips upwards and jam his cock deeper into Jean's throat, but Jean's free hand had grabbed his hip to hold it down.

His other hand had crept under the material over Marco's inner thigh, and stretching it, plunged two fingers inside the tight bud of Marco's asshole.

The combined sensations was going to drive Marco mad, as he began to weep in mind-blowing pleasure.

  "I'm going to come!" Marco panted, hips trembling as Jean's index and middle fingers massaged the walls of his anus. "I'm going to-- ah!"

Jean gagged as Marco came in his mouth, the bitter semen coating the back of his throat.

  "I'm so sorry-- Jean, don't swallow it!" Marco scolded as the blonde, with a little difficulty, gulped it down.

  "Only yours," Jean grinned, white semen dripping down his chin. He curled his fingers down inside Marco to rub against that bundle of nerves that was Marco's prostrate.

Marco couldn't hold back a shriek, as his body began to convulse and his limp dick began to harden again.

  "That's it,  _mon chéri_ ," Jean crooned, relentlessly kneading that sweet spot and slipping in a third finger to stretch his insides. It had been a while since Marco had let him put it in, so he would be a little tighter than usual. "Let me hear how you like it."

  "Jean," Marco sobbed. "Don't tease me. P-put it in."

It had been a while, as Jean said. So who could blame the blonde for wanting to have a little fun with his lover?"

  "Put what in?" Jean feigned ignorance, and scissored two fingers inside the freckled man while continuously massaging that prostrate gland. It was starting to get very wet and loose as Jean worked, while the freckled man whined and arched his back and cried out.

  "Put it in," Marco begged, tears of pleasure running down his freckles cheeks. "Put y-your dick inside me."

Jean kissed his lover on the lips, working his tongue inside his mouth and running it over the roof of his mouth.

He withdrew the three fingers, feeling Marco shudder at their expulsion under him. He sat back, a thin thread of saliva connecting their lips and then snapping. Marco looked dazed, pink, sweaty and very, very hot. His cock was erect, and he was trembling in lust-driven excitement.

Jean grabbed his thighs and spread them apart, so he could get a clear view of the flowering bud between Marco’s legs. It was a lovely reddish pink, and it leaked the fluid produced by kneading his prostrate gland.

“As you wished,” Jean whispered, lining his dick up with the blooming entrance. “My dick inside you.”

He rammed it all in at one go, pounding that sweet spot inside Marco. The freckled man gasped and screamed Jean’s name as the blonde stretched him open with his dick. It was huge from little release in the last month or so, since Jean refused to come anywhere else besides inside Marco’s ass.

“Be careful what you wish for, _chéri_ ,” Jean grinned, with Marco’s legs hugging his waist. He cupped the freckled man’s hips and slowly began to pull out then thrust in again, too eager to be gentle.

“Jean,” Marco panted, eyes fluttering and unable to focus with the myriad of overwhelming, euphoric sensations conquering his brain from below his waist. “Jean, I love you. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jean grunted, thrusting deep and hard. Every time he moved inside Marco, his dick would pound against that spot in his ass, and Marco was howling with wanton pleasure underneath him.

“Gonna come,” Marco whimpered. “Gonna— _nngh_!”

He came, spurting semen all over his own stomach. But Jean wasn’t even close to finishing, and Marco came twice more that night before Jean finally climaxed inside him, ejaculating his hot seed such that it filled Marco up and coated his insides such that he had to get it cleaned out before they went to bed at 3 in the morning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you wished for, your lieges, SMUT. I was only too happy to write it, except that I was doing it in a public library with people on either side of me. Well. See you all in Hell, then.


	6. Just To Make It Official

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Kirschsteins.

The sun was warming Marco's naked, freckled ass by the time he woke up. He reached out an arm... and touched empty sheets. Not bothered, since the blonde usually woke up earlier than he did to work, Marco climbed out of bed stark naked and stretched. His joints and muscles complained from stiffness of sleeping too much, and a quick glance at the clock confirmed that.

It was already half past noon.

Jean's parents said that they would arrive half an hour ago. Marco's drowsy mind cleared into genuine panic when he realised he wouldn't be making a particularly good impression if he didn't greet them at the door, especially naked and with morning breath.

His parents, from what Marco could recall during a brief introduction Jean had made between them on a Skype video call. They were polite, friendly even (though that had mostly been Jean's mom, Camille), but they were strict traditionalists who expected their children to perform well in academic aspects and be financially independent in return for their generous inheritance.

Marco's parents were happy if they could just do their best.

He quickly washed up and put on some clothes acceptable for the standards of wealthy, elite socialites. Basically, clothes tagged with the names of other people. There were people talking downstairs, and it was punctuated by the clink of culinary on porcelain plates. Hurrying down the stairs, he as greeted by a relieving sight: Jean's and Evangeline's parents had yet to arrive.

Instead, their son and daughter were entertaining Luca, Reiner and Bertholdt with antics only Kirschsteins could think of: arguing.

  "I told you: white!"

  "In case you didn't hear me the first thousand times, white is like  _clichéd!"_

"I don't care if it's a cliché! It's a tradition!"

  "Nothing about this is traditional!"

  "Doesn't matter!"

  "You  _know_ what white stands for, don't you?"

  "I said--"

Marco slowly entered the scene of the fray, a cheery but comparatively small kitchen about half the size of theirs in Paris. It had red walls, checkered black and white tiles and top of the line equipment that Jean was using to flip pancakes and Evangeline to burn bacon. Reiner and Bertholdt sat at the kitchen table, the taller of the couple bouncing Luca in his lap as Atlas sat at attention, watching the baby squeal and wave his pudgy hands. The two men looked incredibly amused by the sibling's quarrel. Marco could absolutely relate. There was nothing quite as entertaining as a Kirschstein sibling fight.

The other three dogs piled around Reiner's feet under the table like living feet-warmers. Now that they weren't roughhousing with half a dozen kids and could be distinguished, Marco identified a black lab, a golden retriever, and a Dobermann Pinscher.

  "Shut up!" Jean hissed when he saw Marco. He put down the spatula to stride over and kiss Marco good-morning. "Morning,  _mon cœur_. Sleep well?"

  "Bloody well should have," Reiner grumbled, taking a swig of coffee. "You two were banging each other so hard that even after two rounds, Bertholdt and I couldn't sleep."

  "Two rounds? Wimps," Jean sneered.

Marco elbowed his fiancé. When he gave Marco a smirk, the freckled man darted a glance at Evangeline, who was pretending to notice nothing as she continued burning sunny side-ups, then looked at him meaningfully.

  "I'll tell you more in detail when my baby sister isn't eavesdropping," Jean rolled his eyes, going back to the stove to flip more pancakes.

  "Nothing to quite perk me up in the morning like gay boyfriends discussing their sex lives," Evangeline sighed happily. "Which brings me to the question: why are we making breakfast when it's lunchtime?"

  "Because  _mon chéri_ here couldn't get his freckled ass out of bed till now," Jean tipped golden-brown pancakes onto a plate and handed it to his lover. "Eat up. The parental units are arriving soon."

  "They travelled by way of business class, no less," Evangeline snorted, adding blackened bits to Marco's plate. He assumed that they had once been bacon. The throat-slicing motion from Reiner where he sat out of Evangeline's scope of vision was a warning not to consume it.

Marco sat down, a frisson of unease in the pit of his stomach as he thought about meeting Jean's parents in person for the first time. The fact that it was empty only made it worse. What if they didn't like him? What if they hated him because he trapped their only son in a gay relationship? What if they didn't want--

Seeing his distress, Jean kissed his freckled lover's forehead. "They'll love you. Don't worry."

Not entirely reassured, Marco gave him a half-grimace, half-smile and ate, carefully avoiding the burnt bacon.

  "C'mere, brat," Jean hoisted Luca onto his waist and the baby proceeded to gnaw on the material of Jean's shirt. "You haven't brushed your ten teeth yet, have you? Can't kiss  _grand-mère_ with nasty baby breath, can we?"

  "I do  _not_ envy enduring the teething process at night," Evangeline dumped the rest of the burnt bacon into the disposal.

  "You shouldn't," Marco agreed, wincing as he recalled the number of hours he spent in the middle of the night walking the floor with a fussing Luca, rubbing tender gums and doing everything stated in the 'How to Soothe Teething Babies' section of raising infants.

  " _Papa_ says they'll be here in five minutes!" Evangeline hollered up the stairs.

  "Got it!" Jean shouted back from the bathroom where he carefully brushed Luca's teeth with a small soft-bristled toothbrush.

Everyone changed like Superman in a telephone box, and within minutes they were ready in the entryway of the house, prepared to greet the formidable and wealthy Kirschstein elders. They arrived in a limousine taxi, something that Jean and Evangeline didn't even so much as bat an eyelash at. Instead, they hurried forward to help carry the luggage, which was limited to two Samsonite suitcases.

  " _Maman!_ " Evangeline threw her arms around her mother's waist and hugged her tightly, kissing both her cheeks. Then she hugged her father just as tightly. " _Papa!"_

Jean's greetings were far less effusive. He kissed both his mother's cheeks and gave his father a bro-hug, of all things.

Marco was frozen to the spot with Luca in his arms, overwhelmed by the sight of the Kirschsteins all together. 

Evangeline and Jean were stunning in their own right, having inherited a mix of good genes. Clad in designer wear and raised to pull it off, they looked like they belonged on a boulevard in Beverly Hills rather than a neighbourhood in San Francisco. Marco could easily see which child had inherited which parent's genes.

Evangeline was more like their mother: petite, fine-boned, with the features of a delicate doll and dark waves styled to flatter their natural appearance. Both preferred understated glamor: Evangeline opting for casual chic, and their mother the classic look. Mrs. Camille LaRue-Kirschstein had chosen to wear a silver-grey Chanel jacket over a navy button-down shirt and black tailored pants for travel. The outfit was accessoried with mother-of-pearl necklace and earrings, and silver Repettos. She looked like a more mature, older version of Evangeline, with fine lines creasing the corners of her startling Siamese sapphire-blue eyes.

Jean inherited not only his father's Y-gene, but also his two-toned hair colour (the older Kirschstein preferred to keep it trimmed in a neat military-style crew cut) and sharp, masculine features. He wore a dark-grey long-sleeved button down shirt, tucked into dark jeans and tightened with a patent leather belt. He had a five o'clock shadow, and where it would have made most men his age seem unkempt, it only added to his intimidating stature. Varrick Kirschstein was as daunting as his name, and he had ensured that his offspring were kept humbled and aware of the knowledge of just how privileged an upbringing they had as compared to most of their peers. According to Jean, Varrick Kirschstein was the strictest father, most capable businessman and most loving husband you could ever find.

And apparently, the most doting grandparent.

He sighted Luca, and without so much as a word to Marco, Reiner and Bertholdt, he hurried forward and began to coo at the baby. Luca was terrified, to say the least, and burrowed his face into the front of Marco's sweater. Only then did the elder Kirschstein pay heed to him, his future son-in-law in the most untraditional of circumstances. And Varrick Kirschstein was  _very_ traditional.

  "You must be Marco," Varrick boomed, shaking Marco's free hand firmly. "Good of you to convince my  _schapskof_ of a son to finally get his own heir."

  "Ah," Camille breezed forward, and smiled at Marco before kissing both his cheeks. She smelled as elegant as she looked. "Marco. Lovely to see you again. May I?"

She held out her slim, pampered hands for Luca, and Marco automatically obliged to respect the unexpectedly commanding woman's wishes. Luca whimpered at being betrayed by his own father, but quickly warmed up to the female Kirschstein, even if it wasn't his usual, interestingly loud aunt.

  "Luca, was it?" she didn't mind Luca playing with her pearl necklace. "For light. How precious! He even has Varrick's and Jean's hair!"

  "Indeed he does," Varrick said with a tinge of pride. "He was meant to be a Kirschstein. Good choice, Marco."

  "Thank you, sir," Marco couldn't help deferring to him.

  "Call me Varrick," he winked at Marco, and proceeded to greet Reiner and Bertholdt as well, treating them like old friends.

  "Such a sweetheart," Camille sighed, letting the baby gnaw at the pearls of her necklace. "He looks like Jean at that age. Without the eyes and freckles, of course. I had hoped that at least one of my children would inherit the LaRue eyes, but apparently Varrick's proved dominant. As he does in business and family matters."

Marco's heart swelled with unspeakable emotion when Camille said that, and Jean, having put the suitcases into the master bedroom, took his hand in silent understanding.

* * *

 

  "Does it fit?" Jean called through the door of their room.

Marco stretched out his arms and gave a testing, deep knee-bend. "Like a glove. How'd you know my size? This is tailored!"

  "What do you think I do with you when you've gone to sleep at night?" Jean's voice was wicked. "C'mon, let me have a look at you."

  "You can't see your partner until they walk down the aisle," Marco scolded. "It's tradition."

  "If this was tradition, you'd be wearing white."

  "Well, if you were ever planning on doing this the traditional way," Marco pointed out wryly. "We wouldn't have been going at it till 3AM in the morning."

  "Told you to be careful about what you wished for," was Jean's airy retort.

  "Either way, you're not seeing me till I walk down the aisle," Marco smoothed down the lapel of his tuxedo. It was a shiny pearly-grey tailored affair, and he was wearing a pale pastel pink tie and white corsage with green leafy accents.

  " _Mon Dieu_ ," Jean said, aggrieved. "Just one peek?"

  "Not even that, sweetheart."

  "I have Luca and I'm not afraid to use him." The muffled noise of Luca's nonsensical chattering confirmed this.

  "You would stoop so low as to use one defenceless baby against me?" Marco teased.

  "Yes," Jean said grimly, not telling him that Luca was currently trying to eat  _his_ corsage and drooling all over the front of his tux. The baby himself had been put into a miniature tuxedo of his own, and while he had fussed at first, he had been quickly distracted by Atlas who was now sitting outside Marco's door, waiting on Luca.

  "Too bad," Marco laughed. "Not going to work this time, love. Be patient. Good things come to those who wait."

  "And early bird gets the first worm," Jean parried. "Come  _onnnnnn."_

  "Waiting another half an hour won't kill you," Marco smiled. "Besides, if it's worms we're talking about, there's only me. So you'll just have to settle."

  "There's nothing I have to 'settle' for when it comes to you," Jean leaned his forehead against the door, unaware that Marco had done the exact same thing and they were separated by an inch of wood. "I love you,  _mon coœur._ I thought that was worth repeating."

  "I love you, too. But are you using that line to get a sneak peek?"

  "Is it working?"

  "Get out of here, Kirschstein."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE YOU LIKED IT AND CREATIVEDOODLE WILL YOU SHUT UP AND STOP POSTING POTENTIAL SPOILERs IN PUBLIC WHERE EVERYONE CAN SEE IT love you thank you bye


	7. White Is Overrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They screwed up the order, but they're happy so it doesn't matter...does it? (Jean decides there's always room for one more in the family)

Luca was beginning to find the whole hustle and bustle of his dads' wedding ceremony incredibly tedious. So when he began to fuss, it was Camille LaRue-Kirschstein who took charge with unsurprising efficacy and sternness. In French.

Jean watched his mother gently chide and thus subdue the whimpering baby, and smiled. His mother did so enjoy having her own grandchild to adore, especially one whose diapers she didn't have to change. He vaguely remembered his mother personally taking care of Evangeline, rather than handing her over to an au pair or a nursemaid as most mothers of her ranking and status would. She would brush off the sentimentality of it as simply not trusting anyone else to do it as well as she could. And to be fair, she had done a fantastic job, Jean would say.

Of course, there were moments like now when Jean wondered if she had ever dropped Evangeline on the head as a baby.

  "That goes there," Evangeline instructed in a customised pale turquoise Valentino cocktail dress in graduating shades with pastel lavender silk flowers adorning the waistline. "No, a little more to the left-- that's too much. Bring it back over half an inch."

  "Half an hour ago," Reiner grunted, lifting the brass pot overflowing with white roses. "You said they were in the perfect place."

  "It has to be perfect," Evangeline stressed. It wasn't even  _her_ wedding, and Jean shuddered to think of how his baby sister would plan her own someday. She would be a bridezilla. "I mean, my older brother doesn't get married everyday!"

Jean smiled and ruffled his sister's hair out of affectionate brotherly habit, earning a shriek of horror in the process.

  "I spent ten minutes doing my hair!" she punched him in the stomach, and as he doubled over in only  _half_ -pretense, he noted that it wasn't the wisest of choices to express affection when she was in a perfectionist mood. "Has everyone arrived?"

  "Just about everyone," Bertholdt twisted his fingers nervously, looking around.

Everything was more than Jean could ever imagine. Even the weather was following Evangeline's demands, and it was a balmy late spring day with no rain clouds on the horizon. There was even a gentle breeze to cool the humidity, a sign that summer would be arriving soon. Guests, varying from family to friends of Jean and Marco, milled about the Kirschstein's backyard in their best clothing. Even Reiner was wearing a suit, although according Bertholdt it had taken some... persuasion.

  "Good," Evangeline smiled, satisfied. The flowers had been arranged according to her wishes and delivered on time, the bower under which the two would say their vows and exchange rings all set up and decorated, the chairs all set out in neat rows with a cream carpet aisle down the middle. It was all soft, white and dreamy. It was a day of happiness, and she was determined to let her brother and his lover enjoy it . "Tell everyone the ceremony is starting soon and Jean, stop standing around like a useless  _débile_. I know you _are_ one, but that doesn't mean you have to  _behave_ like one."

Okay,  _definitely_ dropped her on the head as a baby.

And speaking of babies, Luca was beginning to tire of this woman who smelled like perfume and only held him without properly playing with him. He wailed, loud and high, for his daddy, the one who would give him rides that made his tummy feel funny but it was the nice kind of funny.

  "Okay,  _maman_ ," Jean lifted his whining little boy high up into the air, making him squeal instead. "Thanks for watching him."

It warmed Camille's heart to see her son with a son of his own. Luca might not have been Jean's by blood, but when it came to family, it was the heart that really mattered. And Luca was a part of Jean's heart now, as was Marco. Years ago, she would have blanched at the idea of her son having a gay lover, and then marrying him. But now, seeing the joy and happiness that Marco had brought into her only son's life, she was only too glad to accept the freckled man as her son-in-law. They had their problems, but as with every couple whose marriages are meant to last like hers and Varrick's, they had overcome it on their own and been made stronger for it.

  "Give me Luca," Evangeline said impatiently. "You're supposed to be in position!"

  "Can't he stand with me?"

The two siblings began to quarrel, and Camille simply rolled her eyes. It was a daily, nonsensical affair, and no matter how many times she'd reprimanded and chastised her two offspring, they insisted on doing it like some kind of routine or tradition. Camille and Varrick were big on traditions, but their senseless, ridiculous arguments were a tradition she would never understand. Even if they were occasionally amusing.

  "Just  _go_." Evangeline held a whimpering Luca and shoved her brother towards the altar. " _Shh_ , Luca. Your daddy has to do something very important. You have to be quiet, then you can have as many 'upsy daisies' as you want, deal?"

Luca appeared to understand his aunt, and her reasoning tone of voice. He promptly quietened with an owlish expression just as the music started up. It was an old Five for Fighting song,  _Road To You._ And when Marco appeared in the back doorway with a bouquet of snowdrops and Lilies of the Valley, Jean knew he'd been right to make the blonde wait. He was always right: about Luca, about Atlas, about everything. Marco walked down the aisle, not too slow, not too fast. His feet were steady under him, and his gaze was steady on Jean's. On his freckled, handsome yet adorable face, there was an expression so bright and so beatific, Jean felt his heart grow and grow and love.

The ceremony went off as planned, with only a couple of snags: Marco tripped on a runner in the carpet, and everyone gasped as he stumbled to steady himself (Evangeline hissed at the oversight); Jean momentarily forgot his vows as he stared at Marco, gorgeous and all dressed up in a tuxedo; they kissed a little too long and too ardently for everyone else's comfort and Reiner, of all people, actually had to cough to remind them that the ceremony had to continue.

Everyone clapped and cheered for them, the couple that had taken six years to realise just how much they loved each other, and to learn how to express it in the right way. Marco was no timid, chubby and unhappy boy as he'd once been, but a man with a stocky build who stood tall and proud and happy with his husband. And Jean... Jean had not changed on the outside, but his heart now understood that love came in many different forms, some of them not always right and needing guidance rather than rejection.

It was a beautiful day, a beautiful ceremony, and when Jean picked up Marco like a bride, everyone cheered in genuine delight while Luca gave an impatient wail as he wanted his daddy to give him the promised 'upsy daisies'.

* * *

 

  "We really messed up the order, didn't we?" Marco smiled, smoothing Luca's flyaway hair down as the infant slept in his lap. He was worn out from the hustle and bustle of the after-wedding party, and too many upsy-daisies. Everyone had gone on home, and before they had left, Marco's parents had made them promise to visit them in Trost someday soon, so they could play more with little Luca.

  "We're together," Jean kissed his husband--  _husband_ , the thought gave him a thrill. "That's all that matters."

  "So, no honeymoon?" Marco teased.

  "What, Paris and London and San Francisco wasn't enough?" Jean arched an eyebrow, going back to his laptop. As much as he loathed it, he had to go back to work. "We  _live_ in the City of Love!"

  "City of Lights," Marco corrected.

  "Love."

  "Lights."

  "Both of you, shut up," Evangeline marched in. "You're both wrong anyway. It's City of _L_ _ight_. Good grief,  _maman_ would tan your hide if she heard you say that."

  "Thank you," Marco gently laid Luca on the bed so he could get up and hug his new sister-in-law. "It was perfect."

  "You tripped," Evangeline pointed at him, then at Jean. "And you forgot your vows. That was so far from perfect, I was going to strangle the both of you."

  "If only you could be this much of a perfectionist about the rest of your life," Jean rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.

  "I  _heard_ that."

Marco quickly intervened before another Kirschstein sibling fight erupted. "What's up?"

  " _Maman_  and _papa_ wanted you to have this, Marco," Evangeline held out a box with both hands, a smile so much like Jean's tweaking the corners of her mouth. "They said that when Luca gets married, you should pass it on to the person he marries."

  "What...?" Marco opened the box, and could only stare in wonder. It was a necklace, neither feminine nor masculine in appearance. It was simply a pendant of a small pink diamond carved into the shape of a tear and set in silver, hanging on a black cord. It was cut such that every facet would glitter when you turned it this way and that, and if Marco put it on, it would hide under the collar of his shirt, so no one would try to steal it.

On the back of the pendant was inscribed the words:  _pour celui que j'aime._

   " _Maman_ replaced the chain with the cord, so it would be less... unsuitable for you," Evangeline grinned. "It is an heirloom, passed down to the betrothed of every Kirschstein heir."

  "Oh, it's... Evangeline, I can't accept this," Marco's voice broke as he beheld the necklace. "It's too beautiful. Someone like you should be wearing it. A girl. Not a man like me. It's enough to have their blessing."

  "Shut up and take it graciously," Evangeline frowned. "It's rude to reject a gift, you know."

  "She has a point," Jean called, not taking his eyes of a financial statement.

  "Are you sure your parents...?" Marco trailed off, and swallowed his tears of gratitude. "Thank you. I should go thank them in person--"

  "They left during the after-party," Evangeline laughed. "I'm surprised you didn't notice. Jean and I had to see them off.  _Papa_ is very strict about us greeting them and saying goodbye. Jean wanted to bring you out so you could say goodbye, but  _maman_ told him not to, since you had your hands full with Luca."

Luca had indeed kept Marco's hands full. The little boy insisted on hogging his daddy's attention, since he'd been kept from him for most of the afternoon. He was howling and crying and sniffling like they'd been separated for days rather than two hours. In the end, Marco had been forced to take him upstairs so he could soothe the young one before he dampened the mood of the party downstairs.

  "I should give them a call," Marco insisted.

  "Try that in maybe sixteen hours when they've landed," Evangeline winked. "Goodnight, Marco. And do try not to compete with Reiner and Bertholdt tonight, please? As much as my inner _fujosh_ i is excited about having two gay couples in the house, today was really exhausting and there are just some things a little sister doesn't need to know."

 

 

 


	8. Where to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they've passed two milestones in their life (kids, marriage, maybe not in the right order but whatever), Marco wonders what future problems lie in wait.

  "Luca, honey," Marco quickly lifted the baby off the dining table before he upended Jean's mug of coffee on his laptop. "No. Jean, sweetheart, do you mind...?"

Jean had stayed up most of the night working on the quarterly sales report for San Francisco, subsisting on only coffee, and was only half-awake. "Wha...?"

  "Nevermind," Marco sighed, putting Luca in the crook of his elbow where the baby was content to chew on Marco's shirt. He trailed a hand over Jean's stiff shoulders and kissed his husband's cheek, which was covered in stubble. "Get some rest, babe."

  "Maybe I will," Jean stretched, feeling joints pop and muscles groan, reaching a hand up and behind him to run it over Marco's jaw. It was oddly soft...? "If you come with me."

Marco unsuccessfully stifled a snort of laughter as Jean caressed Luca's cheek. The baby was unbothered by his father's affection, even thought it wasn't intended for him. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Jean twisted around, and saw his mistake. " _Merde_."

  "Cute," Marco kissed Jean's forehead. "Here, you can take Luca to bed."

  "Ugh," Jean grimaced as the baby turned an equally put-out expression on his blonde daddy, dissatisfied and bored with chewing his freckled daddy's un-chewable shirt. "He likes the idea as much as I do."

  "But seriously," Marco ran a hand over Jean's stubble. "Get some rest. You look like crap."

  "I swear," Jean yawned. "You put whiskey or brandy or something in Luca's milk so he'd sleep through the night. There was  _no_ way he could sleep like that when he's in the teething stage."

  "So what if I did?" Marco batted his eyelashes at Jean, and chuckled. "He just loves me better."

Jean lifted Luca up over his head and into his lap, and regarded the baby with the same expression as he would the board of directors in England. "Do you love Marco better?"

Luca stared at him, drool on his chin. Then he giggled and proceeded to put his fingers in his daddy's mouth. " _Da!"_

   "Okay," Jean managed to mumble around Luca's fingers. "It's official. He loves me better."

Marco laughed. His heart flared with warmth and he thumbed the gold wedding band on his ring finger. It felt so surreal; living in Paris with Jean, the boy he'd chased after for so many years and now a man he was  _married_ to, and their son and a dog that was curled around Jean's feet. Marco at age fifteen, the age he'd first fallen in love with Jean Kirschstein, the age where he'd still been living as a walking bundle of lard and insecurity, would never have believed it. 

 _Wow_ , Marco thought as he watched Jean play with Luca.  _Did I ever even_ hope _to think this might happen someday?_

The answer was no. Marco had been so afraid, so torn up by the self-doubt and self-loathing that had been bred into his bones. He'd fled, and Marco winced as he recalled how much pain it had brought the two of them. He looked down at his right wrist, where the scars of that mistake remained, a reminder to treasure the present he had now with a family of his own. He'd once regretted it, but Jean had taught him over the last few years that living life with regrets was not living at all. Jean was even glad that he'd broken up with him in university. It had taught Jean to be more accepting, to be more forgiving and patient. It had not been an easy road, but they were here, now. It was beautiful, and it was perfect.

  "Penny for your thoughts?" Jean leaned back and looked at Marco with his head upside down.

Marco grinned and kissed him, Spider-Man style. "Why not a striptease?"

* * *

 

Luca was determined to go, and go  _fast_.

He knew how to crawl, and was very proficient at it. He liked making his daddy with the freckles run after him, and giggling as he escaped. He would nevertheless shriek with delight when he was caught, his darker-haired daddy tickling him and kissing him until he surrendered. He would sometimes crawl over his fairer-haired daddy's feet, surprising him into picking him up for upsy-daisies. Yes, he liked upsy-daisies very much.

Now, as he navigated the territory of the living room where the play mat had been rolled out and all his favourite toys ignored in favour of going fast, he grabbed the edge of the sofa and heaved himself upwards with all his strength.

Marco positively shouted, as he scrambled for his video-camera. "Jean!"

The blonde stumbled out of the bathroom, shaving foam coating his jaw like a Santa Claus beard. "What?"

  "Luca! Luca's standing up!"

Jean ditched the shaver and ran for the living room, and was proud, tearful witness to his baby son levering himself into a standing position. Albeit a shaky one, but a standing position nevertheless.

  "Luca," Marco beckoned with one hand, the other filming the whole milestone. "Come to daddy."

Luca put one foot forward, and his hands flapped for purchase. Jean held his breath, and did not recall feeling quite this on edge since... well, it had been a while. But Luca proved that determination won out against sense of balance, and made precarious, unstable progress by putting out his other foot. The sofa was behind him and out of reach now. If he fell... Jean inched closer in case he did.

It took nearly twenty minutes for Luca to cross the four feet between himself and Marco, and Jean's hands had shot out more than three times in a bid to steady him when the little boy stumbled and wavered. It had been a useless bid, since Luca tumbled into Marco's lap and babbled happily as Marco shed tears of parental pride and joy.

  "He did it," Jean was dazed, then a grin as bright and wide as the sun broke out on his face, still dripping shaving cream. "He did it!"

  "Luca," Marco hugged the baby boy, who had endured so much and for too long, to make his way home to Marco and Jean. "Luca."

Jean was about to join in the intimate and tender celebration when he heard his laptop go off. He rolled his eyes, but felt his stomach clench in foreboding. They had just sent in the next batch of sample reports, so what was this now?

He typed in his password, and scanned the contents of his e-mail. His jaw clenched, and the foreboding feeling he'd felt in his gut was now very, very real. The blood in his veins, pumping with adrenaline and excitement from seeing his little boy take his first step without falling slowed to ice, and his hands fisted on the table until the knuckles went white. He didn't want to spoil the mood, or ruin the happiness Marco and Luca were celebrating now, but they needed to know. They had to know.

  "Marco," Jean called out tightly in a low, controlled voice. " _Chéri_ , can you come in here?"

Marco wiped away the tears and went into the kitchen with Luca still in his arms, confused by Jean's tone. "What is it?"

Jean's expression was one of pure outrage, and Marco hadn't seen that face since they'd reunited in Las Vegas. "Read the e-mail."

Swallowing his confusion and doubts, he read it. And went very, very still.

  "Is this... is this...?" Marco couldn't even ask a coherent question. Emotions, vivid and intense, choked him. His hold on Luca tightened protectively.

Jean's private investigators had found Luca's ex-foster parents. The ones who had abused him so terribly and so mercilessly. They were living in Sussex, with three other foster children. Observations by the investigators showed that the three other foster children were miserable, and though they showed no sign of physical abuse, they had not seen the parts unconcealed by clothing. It was likely that the foster parents were clever enough not to hurt them where it would show. The private investigators were waiting for further instructions from Jean.

  "Yes," Jean's arm went around Marco's shoulders. "I hired them about a week after we took in Luca. It took a while, but they found those  _fils de pute._ What do you want to happen now?"

  "I want them to rot in jail," Marco said furiously, anger sparking in his eyes. Jean had never seen it before, and was inappropriately but  _very_ turned on. "But first I want to punch the living daylights out of them."

  "You,  _mon cœur_ , are gorgeous when you're mad at someone else," Jean kissed his temple and left a smear of shaving cream there. "What you wish for can be arranged, and  _will_ be arranged. Leave some for me, though."

  "I can't make promises I know I won't be able to keep," Marco said fiercely, but he was smiling.

 


	9. Safe With Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luca's ex-foster parents are soon to be arrested, and Marco wants to cut them in pieces while they're still conscious and feed them piece by piece to Atlas. Jean, on the other hand, is just as angry but very turned on,

Ever since Luca had been taken in by Jean and Marco, it had been a stab to Marco's heart every time he gave the baby his bath or changed his diaper to see the scars of a belt or cane on his body and the burns of a cigarette on the soles of his feet. Luca was entirely oblivious, having long since forgotten the pain in the ignorant bliss of being an infant. But Marco felt it, and he felt it deeply. It had taken months for the freckled man to stop crying every time he saw Luca's wounds, but the wrath never stopped flaming on the back burner. 

But watching the police take photographs of Luca's disfigurations while the baby cried because strange people were touching him and he was cold, it brought the wrath to the forefront of his mind. Jean had to restrain his husband from swooping in and shielding the one-year old. They had just celebrated his birthday a week ago, and Evangeline ("Queen of Whimsical Flightiness", Jean had dubbed her) had flown in to Paris just to give Luca his present. Well, present _s_. Most of them were gifts that Luca wouldn't be able to use until he was three (how could a one-year old drive a motorised miniature car when he had just learned how to walk?). However, there were some gifts that Luca did adore, like the insanely soft bunny plushie that the little boy was never without. _  
_

He was clutching it now, wailing until he was red in the face because he wanted his daddies, and he wanted them now. Marco thought he was going to start punching his fist through a wall if they didn't give him back now so he could comfort his son.

  "Easy there,  _mon chéri_ ," Jean rubbed his upper arms. "I know how you feel. But this has to be done."

The photographs were going to be used as evidence against Elias and Jeanine Mondaine, Luca's ex-foster parents. Marco was fine with that, except for the fact that there was a high possibility that those photos would be filed permanently the police database and displayed to the public to show the cruelty of the Mondaines. He was worried that Luca would have to grow up with the stigma of being a pity case, as if seeing the scars every time he looked in the mirror after a shower wasn't enough.

The officer taking the photographs called out to Jean in French, and Jean released Marco. The freckled man hurried over, nearly elbowing said officer out of the way so he could pull a howling Luca into his arms.

   " _Shh_ , sweetie," Marco rocked him as he cradled him against his chest. Luca, scenting his daddy, calmed down considerably. His screeching sobs dwindled to to whimpers. "It's okay. Daddy's here."

Jean spoke with the officer, who nodded. Not for the first time, Marco wished he had taken the initiative to sign up for French classes.

  "They said they'll need to get the warrant for arrest first," Jean smoothed down Luca's flyaway hair, and the baby turned piteous, teary eyes on him. "The Mondaines will be arrested by latest tomorrow evening. For now..."

  "Do I get to punch the jerks before they're placed in police custody?" Marco said with uncharacteristic fury.

Jean was mildly taken aback by the protective instinct blazing in Marco's normally sweet chocolate-brown eyes. His face, normally gentle and calm, was set in determination to get revenge on Luca's behalf. It was actually kind of frightening, and Jean hoped the Mondaines knew what they were in for. Where Luca was concerned, Marco could be  _pretty_  ferocious.

He, on the other hand, was  _very_ turned on.

* * *

  "I can't believe you got a boner in the police station," Marco half-chuckled, half-grumbled. It had been mortifying to see Jean's erection straining against the crotch of his pants, and the blonde didn't even bat an eyelash when the officers tried not to stare as they left the building.

  "All your fault," Jean kissed Marco's jaw. It made the freckled man shiver. "You look so damn sexy when you're mad."

  "Maybe I should be mad more often," Marco ran his hands lightly over Jean's pectorals. For a man who spent most of his time crouched over a laptop, he was still in tremendously good shape. He traced the washboard abs, remembering how once upon a time, Jean would flash them as he got into the fighting ring in just shorts and swing his fists. He never knew what motivated Jean then. Victory? Trophies? Fame? Girls? Marco now knew it was none of that, though that last one made the back of his mouth taste bitter. Jean told him on one of those mornings right after they'd reunited and it was still just them in the little world of the Kirschstein's apartment, while they lay in bed with their arms around each other and their legs entangled. The memory was clear in his mind, like it had only taken place this morning.

  " _I was fighting for myself_ ," Jean had murmured, absently playing Connect-The-Dots with the freckles on Marco's chest. " _I was fighting to forget. To forget about you, the pain, the loneliness. When I was in the ring, and the cheers from the audience were deafening me, and my heart was pumping with adrenaline... I was happy. I managed to forget about you when I beat the crap out of my opponent, and I welcome the pain from their blows because it took my mind off you. That's why--"_

And Marco had shut him up by kissing him silly. The six years were now a mark on their past, and it was a mark they were proud of. Not many people could say that their own relationships had endured the same amount of pain and scarring and hurt.

But could Luca be able to say the same of his own scars one day? That he'd come out stronger for it?

Marco's heart squeezed, and he glanced towards Luca, asleep on the play mat with Atlas curled around him. The little boy was exhausted from all that had happened, and was drooling with the ear of his bunny plushie in his mouth. Marco winced when he realised he would have to hand-wash the expensive material. It was silk and made-to-order.

  "What's wrong?" Jean noticed his expression, and rubbed Marco's neck. " _Chéri_?"

  "Luca will never be able to go topless in the summer," Marco whispered, never taking his eyes off his son. So innocent, so full of hope and potential. But so trapped by his disfigurations. "We can't go to beaches. He'll be so ashamed--"

  "Marco,  _mon cœur_ ," Jean tilted his husband's face towards him. "Luca can go shirtless all he likes. Fuck, he can go nude if that's what he wants. He doesn't have anything to be ashamed of."

  "But people--"

  "People can go fuck themselves," Jean cut him short, his gaze narrowing. "Listen to me. Luca has  _nothing_ to be ashamed of. It wasn't his fault, so he doesn't have to hide it."

Marco buried his face in Jean's shoulder, his shoulders trembling ever so slightly. The blonde sighed and rubbed his beloved's back in slow circles. As a businessman, Jean had been taught to put a distance between work and family. The closest he had ever come to discussing his business with Marco was letting him rub his shoulders while he worked on his laptop. When it was family time, like going for walks, shopping, movie nights and meal times, Jean never spoke a word about his work. 

He was supposed to have a conference call with the APEC director ten minutes ago, but right now, this was family time. Marco needed him as a husband, and Luca needed him as a father.

He and Marco settled on the play mat, mere inches from Luca's dozing form. The jostling of the mat made Luca stir, and he blinked drowsily at the sight his his daddies. Marco was tucked between Jean's legs, his back on the blonde's chest and head resting on his collarbone. He held out his hands for Luca, wiggling his fingers.

  "Da!" Luca squirmed and stretched and struggled to roll himself onto his belly. He looked like a baby seal, or a turtle flipped on hits back. "Da!"

  "Come on, honey," Marco encouraged softly. "Walk to daddy."

  "C'mere, brat," Jean drawled jokingly.

Luca, seemingly taking offence, pushed his chest off the mat with his chubby arms, and shakily stood up.

  "Told you he likes me better," Jean smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of Marco's neck.

  "Only because you toss him up in the air all the time," Marco snorted.

  "Still likes me better."

Luca toddled towards Marco and Jean as Atlas drowsily lifted his head to watch his human bean. The little boy reached out his hands as he babbled excitedly and tumbled headfirst into Marco's stomach, proceeding to snuggle up there with his bunny.

  "What are you going to call it, sweetie?" Marco stroked Luca's hair, marvelling, as he always did, over it's likeness to Jean's hair.

  "Smelly," Jean pronounced.

  "Don't be a mean-butt," Marco elbowed him lightly and turned his attention back to Luca, who gnawed on the toy's ear with cheerful abandon. "What are you going to call the bunny, Luca?"

  "Buh!" Luca stopped chewing long enough to show off his toy. According to Jean, his little sister had actually sketched the design herself, and chosen the stuffing and material it would be made with. It was now a one-of-a-kind powder-pink silk plushie, because Evangeline would never let her nephew have anything less than the best.

  "How do I even  _wash_ a silk plushie?" Marco had whispered to Jean.

  "Boo?" Marco inquired seriously of his son.

  "Buh!" Luca shook the toy at Marco, and continued to gnaw away happily, blissfully unaware of how expensive the plushie must have cost.

Luca was warm and healthily pudgy, clad in a white infant tee and bulky fresh diapers. He smelled like baby soap and talcum powder, and his lightly-freckled cheeks were pink, chubby and demanded kisses all the time. He was tucked into the same cot every night, fed regularly with his favourite mashed bananas and baby food, burped so he didn't have gas, and got to play with educational toys that he could chew.

He was happy, content. He would never remember what had happened to him before his first birthday. He would never be able to remember how he had gotten the disfigurations that twisted around his torso and belly, or the circular burn marks on the soles of his feet. He would wonder what he'd done to deserve such brutality that would scar him for life.

  "You're home, Luca," Marco kissed Luca's downy, tufty crown, and stroked his hair. "You're safe."

Luca yawned in reply.

  "Okay, bedtime for the kid," Jean scooped Luca up and marched him towards the bathroom to wash his teeth. The usual nonsense followed: Luca gargling and gurgling as Jean helped him brush his new teeth, squealing as they played with a basinful of water, Marco scolding them for wasting water.

Luca was tucked into bed properly, and within seconds he was fast asleep with the bunny in his arms.

  "He'll probably insist on carrying that to his first day of preschool, you know," Marco smiled as Jean hugged him from behind. They gazed down at their sleeping son in wonder, until Jean gave a yawn of his own."Are _you_ tired, babe?"

Jean kissed him by way of response. "Bedtime for the adults, too."

 

 

 

 

  

 


	10. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mondaines are apprehended at last, and Marco and Jean meet the other foster children.

Christine Mondaine was slowly making her way back to the dingy apartment where she lived with her foster family. As the eldest of the three children adopted by the Mondaines, she was tasked with bringing in the bacon by working part-time at the nearby petrol station. She had to lie about her age (fifteen) to work there, and if it wasn't for the questions that would be raised as to why she wasn't in school, Elias Mondaine would have her working there full-time.

She had learned not to complain; while she worked after school, her siblings had to report home and hide as well as they could in a tiny, dirty two-room apartment. Elias and Jeanine Mondaine were heavy drinkers and vicious drunks. The only reason why they had taken in three children was so they could get the child support checks from the social services and pay for their alcohol. They fed their children with stale food, water and not much else. Once, they'd gotten so dead drunk that Christine actually had to rummage through the trash for food.

Then they'd adopted a fourth, a sickly and haggard little blond baby with the belief that he would be easy to take care of.

The baby had shrieked through the night, and Elias and Jeanine's attempts to 'calm' him involved unsavoury methods that only made him scream harder. Christine knew how much it hurt, and rarely cried since the sixth time Jeanine Mondaine had pressed the burning end of her Pall Mall to Christine's hip. So she tried to shush the baby and rock him to sleep every night before the couple got to him.

Elias and Jeanine were smart about how they hit their kids: they hit them in their I-zones, on their torsos and thighs and bottoms of their feet. They could still wear their T-shirts and shorts and shoes, and no one could tell how badly they'd been abused.

But no matter how much they injured the baby, he would continue to wail and cry and bother the neighbours, who were usually indifferent but could not ignore the howling ruckus. So they dropped the baby at the doorstep of the orphanage in a cardboard box and taking their three other children, migrated to Sussex with illegally obtained passports.

But since their identities were faked, they could not register with the social services here, and thus received no welfare checks to pay for their beer and cigarettes. So they threatened Christine into lying about her age and working at the petrol station after school.

To say Christine hated the Mondaine couple was an understatement. She always wished she could run away, but then who would look after Devin and Dylan, her two foster brothers?

She dragged her feet, because who would want to come home to an apartment that was never cleaned, with dirty dishes in the sink and the stench of beer and cigarette smoke permanently in the air?

The sound of sirens made her look up from her scuffed purple Converse knock-offs (they were on sale the local Salvation Army for 5 pounds) and stare.

There were police cars in the driveway of their apartment building. She sighed. Probably another one of their neighbours arrested for possessing drugs or--

  "Let me go!" Elias Mondaine's belligerent shout was unmistakable. He was handcuffed, and frogmarched into the backseat of a police car.

  "What about my children!" Jeanine shrieked in faux-motherly anger, as she was shoved in behind Elias.

 _Could it possibly be...?_ Christine couldn't breathe.

She hurried towards the apartment block, only to be held back by police officers.

  "And you are...?"

  "I'm Christine Mondaine," she panted. "Those are my foster parents you're arresting."

  "We've got a warrant for their arrest," he informed her. "They've been charged with child abuse."

  "By whom?"

The police officer's lips twisted wryly. "You'll meet them soon enough."

 

She and her brothers were escorted to the police station, where they sat in the waiting room with a blanket thrown around their shoulders by a kind female police officer. They could hear their foster parents screaming obscenities in both French and English, and they shivered. If they were released, it would be them who would get the brunt of the fury.

She must have dozed off with her arms around her brothers, because when she woke up, it was slightly past midnight and there were two guys wearing really expensive clothes (she knew cashmere and tailored things when she saw it) at the desk. One of them had funny hair styled in an undercut, like the shorter part at the back of his head was dark brownish and the top of his hair was all blonde. He had the build of one of those kickboxers of MMA fighters she saw on TV when Elias switched to sports channels. The other guy was more stocky in build, and had dark floppy hair and freckles on his face. He looked angry, but it was the baby he was holding that interested Christine more.

  "Stephan?" she whispered in disbelief.

Despite the hubbub in the station, the two men heard her and glanced over. She cowered, intimidated by the freckled man's anger in his eyes and the blond man's sharp amber eyes.

  "These are the other children?" the freckled man asked the police officer manning the front desk. He had a nice voice, the kind that felt like warm milk at night when you had a bad dream. Christine always wished she had a father with a voice like that. The police officer nodded, and the two men approached her and her brothers, crouching in front of them to get at eye-level.

  "Hi," the freckled man said softly. "You must be Christine. I'm Marco and this is my husband, Jean. And this is Luca."

Christine had seen lots of gay couples, but never with a child. Stephan, or Luca as Marco had called him, was sleeping in Marco's arms, and he looked healthy and chubby and like a proper one-year old should. He must have been adopted by them for quite some time to look so content. He was even clutching a bunny soft toy in his little fist, and it looked like it was made of _silk_. She felt a tightness in her throat, and realised it was envy. She wished that she had been adopted by _this_ couple, even if they weren't your stereotypical heterosexual couple. But the Mondaine couple was heteroseuxal, and they had turned out to be a nightmare, hadn't they?

  "I'm Christine," she affirmed, feeling tears sting at the corners of her eyes. Marco had really nice chocolate-brown eyes, and without the anger, he looked so gentle and so kind. She wasn't so sure about his husband, because he was frowning at them. "The one that's drooling on my ponytail is Dylan, and the snoring one is Devin."

Jean chuckled, and Christine decided he wasn't that scary after all.

  "It was hard on you," Marco murmured, and that was her undoing.

She burst into tears that woke up her brothers, and Marco made soothing noises. A warm hand fell on her shoulder, and she looked up through tears to see that it was Jean.

  "Are you willing to testify against the Mondaines?" Jean asked, when she finally calmed down. He had patted her shoulder until she'd finished crying, and given her tissues.

  "Yes," Christine's voice was raw from crying. "But... what about us? What happens to us when they go to jail?"

  "You'll be adopted by other foster parents. This time, we'll personally make sure that they have a good track record with their other foster kids, and that you'll be in good hands," Marco reassured her.

She was overcome with a desperate longing to go with this couple. They looked so kind, and so gentle and if they had gone to such lengths to arrest the foster parents who had abused their son, even if he wasn't theirs by blood, then didn't that make them amazing parents? She wanted so badly to go with them. She felt like if they took her in, she would definitely be as happy as Stephan--no, Luca was now.

  "Can't I... can't I go with you guys?" Christine mumbled.

Marco and Jean exchanged a startled look, then gave her apologetic smiles. "I'm afraid not. We have our hands full with Luca and Atlas."

  "Atlas?"

  "Our dog," Jean ran a hand through his two-toned undercut. "My little sister dumped him on us."

  "You agreed to take him home with us," Marco reminded him. "Besides, you don't have anything to complain about. I'm the one who walks him and cleans up after him."

They had a dog. She'd always wanted a dog. A dog that would be her constant companion and comfort her whenever she needed solace.

  "Please," she begged.

  "I'm sorry, Christine," Marco smoothed her hair away from her grimy face. It was such a tender action that Christine felt like she was going to cry again. "But we can't. You're a lovely, sweet girl, and we're not the only kind foster parents out there."

Here, Luca woke up. He stared drowsily at Christine, and she fervently hoped that he would recognise her and cling to her in a long-lost reunion moment, so they would see how attached he was to her, and they would  _have_ to adopt her

He didn't, and instead burrowed into Marco's shirt and began to chew on the ear of his bunny. Her heart sank.

  "Mr. and... uh, Mr. Kirschstein?" a police officer stood in the doorway that led to the holding cells where Elias and Jeanine Mondaine were.

  "Yes," Marco stood up, and gave Luca over to Jean, who sighed but smiled anyway. There was a determined look on his face as he marched towards the holding cell and Jean trailed after him.

Christine craned her neck to see what was happening, then automatically winced when she heard the sharp crack of bone on bone.

  " _That_ was for hurting my son," she heard Marco hiss.

  "Sir, I'm afraid you can't--"

There was a muffled discussion, then another smashing of bone against bone. It was followed by a softer impact noise, and  then someone gagging.

  "They can't do this," Elias protested weakly. The sound of his voice made Christine shudder. "We have rights--"

 _Thwack_.

  " _Fils de salope_ ," Christine overhead Jean snarling, and Devin and Dylan whimpered at the intensity in his voice. "Consider yourself lucky you're only getting away with this much. We have enough evidence against you to throw you in a dingy little cell for the rest of your miserable lives."

They emerged, and Marco was nursing bruised knuckles. Jean was still holding Luca, who appeared unperturbed by the recent events and was still chewing on his rabbit's ear.

They were going to leave, Christine realised in a panic. They weren't going to take her with them.

  "Can we stay with you for the night?" she begged. "Just for tonight."

Jean and Marco exchanged a look, then Jean shrugged. "I'll upgrade us and ask them for extra beds."

  "Thank you, sweetheart," Marco kissed Jean's cheek and took Luca from him.

Christine felt safer with them around, knowing that they were good people and only people who were kind and loving could have made Luca so happy, even it broke her heart that he didn't remember her.

Marco patted her head and winked. "Try not to let the flies in your mouth when you see where you guys are staying tonight."

* * *

 

The Eden Room of Hotel Una was an amazing room, and Marco smiled when the kids' jaws dropped.

  "You guys must be rich," Dylan whispered.

  "Wait," Devin narrowed his eyes at Jean. "I know you."

  "You do?" Jean laughed. It had been a long time since he graced the television screen or magazine covers, but Devin screamed when he realised he was talking to Jean Kirschstein, the famous MMA pro fighter who had retired early from the scene. He begged for an autograph, and Jean wouldn't stop laughing as he obliged.

Christine ran her hand over the upholstery of the sofa, marvelling over how soft it was to the touch. In all her life, she had never been anywhere half as swanky as this. The Mondaines never had any cash to spare for anything else besides their booze and smokes. She had endured years of silent envy when her classmates related tales of travel to gorgeous places and amazing hotels. She was living the dream now, as she admired the decor of the suite.

  "Get some rest, Christine," Marco walked by, cuddling Luca in his arms and pushing the hair out of her face. It was such a gentle, caring motion, and he looked so kind and so loving as he kissed Luca's cheek when he snuffled in his sleep.

  "Y-you really can't take us in?" she whispered, hoping he had a change of heart in the last half an hour since she'd asked.

  "We can't," Marco murmured, then smiled ruefully. "It took ages for me to convince Jean to adopt just one child. And he set so many conditions that my head spun."

She sniffed, and was surprised when she felt Marco hug her with one arm. Luca was squished between them, but he didn't stir. It was the hug she'd never had, the hug she wished she'd get every night before she went to bed, the hug that she'd always longed for. The hug of a father that genuinely cared for her wellbeing. He smelled like cinnamon, and talcum powder. It was warm and soft and it made her feel better, even though she knew she would feel worse when he let her go.

  "Go to bed," Marco repeated. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

 


	11. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward a week, and the case is closed. The Mondaines are going to prison, and does Christine get her wish?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answer: FUCK NO.

It was over. After a week that felt more like an eternity of going to court to see the gory details dragged out and hear the accusations flying on both sides, it was over. Marco sincerely hoped he would never have to endure something like that again. It had been an experience and he could claim to be wiser for it, but it was a terrible one that he could safely say he wished he never had experienced at all. Luca's and the other children's wounds had been horrible, inducing gasps from all who saw it except for, of course, the perpetrators. They claimed that it was punishment, that the children were misbehaving, that it was perfectly justified.

No one believed them, obviously.

Their attorney would have had Marco's sympathy for having such disgusting defendants, but he was a jerk himself. He demanded to know if gay couples could even raise a child properly, and questioned their parenting ability. He tried to embarrass Jean by asking how an ex-MMA pro could possibly have any less of an inclination to violence than the ordinary Mondaine couple, and even dared to suggest that he had inflicted some of the wounds on Luca himself. It was an outrageous suggestions, and Marco actually wanted to punch the opposing counsel in the genitals. Jean just winked at Marco, and actually managed to keep his calm. When Marco asked how he, infamous for his short temper back in high school (for crying out loud, he picked a fight with Eren Jaeger every time the guy so much as _looked_ at him) managed to stay so cool and unaffected by the lawyer's not-so-subtle insults, Jean merely shrugged and said it was a by-product of becoming a businessman. 

 _"You learn to keep your wits about you so you don't make yourself look like an idiot_ ," Jean had grinned. " _When you're giving presentations and people ask stupid questions, you can't very well scream at them, can you? Better to stay calm and therefore make the other person look like the idiot."_

So Marco took his advice and when he took the stand, he managed not to leap over the wooden bar and throttle the very rude and very insidious lawyer. Jean gave him a thumbs-up when he successfully suppressed the urge to reach over the railing and punch the balding man in a suit. His husband even mouthed ' _victory sex'_ to distract him, and it had worked like a charm as Marco chuckled.

Christine, Devin and Dylan testified against their foster parents, who interrupted them with screamed promises of revenge and threats to keep their silence. The couple was subdued, but Devin and Dylan were no longer so eager to testify. That worked against the Mondaines, because the judge could clearly observe how much the foster children feared the Mondaines. Christine, on the other hand, blanched at the intimidation but continued to testify in a strong, clear voice. Marco thought she was a very brave girl, and so very thin. She looked like a clothes hanger, the way all her ill-fitted clothes just hung off her thin frame. She reminded him of how Luca used to be when they first took him in: frightened, used to fear and abuse, sickly and miserable. He was determined to find her a good home, with a family that could nurture her properly and give her true happiness. When the lawyer asked Christine if she was fed three proper meals a day, she shook her head and said no. She added that she was so malnourished that she didn't even have her first period yet, while most girls her age were having almost-regular menstrual cycles.

The judge declared the Mondaines as guilty, and sentenced them to 10 years in jail each. When Marco wanted to bay for more blood, Jean took him aside and informed him that it was the maximum sentence they could mete out, and judging from the appearance of the Mondaines, they didn't have that long to live anyway. He deduced that they were likely to be afflicted with liver failure from too much alcohol and potential lung cancer from too much smoking.

  " _And a jail term isn't a cushy stay_ ," Jean had told him wryly.

Marco was hardly satisfied, but at least he could be sure that  _one_ abusive couple was behind bars and far from happiness, unable to torture any more innocent children. On the other hand, Luca was free of any bad memories and perfectly happy, unlike his ex-foster siblings. Marco and Jean had made some calls, but for now the orphanage in Sussex would have to take them in. It was far from Paris, where the Kirschsteins were returning to their normal lives, but it was better than being with the Mondaines, who had spat at Marco and Jean as they were escorted away.

Dylan and Devin had given them shy smiles before ducking into the orphanage director's car, with Devin still holding Jean's autograph in his hand like it was made of gold. Christine had hesitated before she climbed in after them, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the curb. She looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn't quite bring herself to say it. Her expression reminded Jean of a dog that's been kicked when it's already down, and it was one he was very familiar with. He surprised her by giving her a hug.

  "We'll check in on you every now and then," Jean patted her back, feeling her shoulders shake when she began to cry in earnest. "They'll tell us who's adopting you, so we can get the address and number. And we'll visit so you can see Luca again."

  "I'd like that a lot," Christine smiled tearfully. "Thank you. Thank you both so much."

Marco gave her a hug, too, and even pressed a fatherly kiss against her forehead. He let her hug Luca, who squirmed but kept on chewing his bunny, and then she was in the car that was headed towards the orphanage. He was sorry to see her go, and turned to Jean, the question on his tongue.

  "No," Jean didn't even look at him, just kept his arm around Marco's shoulders and anticipated his question. "You know we can't adopt any of them. We have our hands full already, and I barely help out at home with Luca and Atlas. What are we going to do when she gets her first period? It's not like we can show her how to use a tampon. And Dylan and Devin quarrel too much."

It was true: the two boys had argued over who would get the softer bed at Hotel Una. Marco had barely been able to restrain Jean from smacking them both on the head so they'd shut up and go to sleep. Then they had argued over breakfast about who got more food, and then Luca started crying because he disliked the sound of contention. 

  "Fine," Marco sighed, but he was relieved when Jean had pointed it out. He knew that if he adopted them, it would be out of pity and not love, like it had been in Luca's case. There was a high chance he might have given Luca preferential treatment, even, and that wouldn't have gone down very well. "Let's go home."

  "Home it is," Jean kissed Luca's crown, and the baby cooed at him. Then he kissed his freckled husband, and grinned against his lips. "And victory sex. Now if we adopted _them,_ we wouldn't be able to _that_ , would we?"

* * *

 

The flight home was less than three hours, but Jean and Luca spent it sleeping anyway. Jean was exhausted from juggling both legalities and work, and Luca because it was 3PM Paris time and that was the usual nap time for him.

But Marco was all keyed up from fighting the Mondaines. He was still dissatisfied that they would be free in 10 years to wreak misery and suffering on the innocent. There were worse people out there, and he was thankful at least that none of the children had been sexually abused. That would have really traumatised them, and it was a small blessing. Another blessing was that the Mondaines had returned Luca to the orphanage, and thus delivered him into his and Jean's care. If they had run away  _with_ Luca... Marco shuddered to think what would have happened and hugged Luca a little tighter.

  "Dada..." Luca snuffled in his sleep, murmuring incoherent baby words. He and his bunny plushie were inseparable, and he had nearly screamed his little head off when Marco tried to take it away for washing. He wound up having to spritz it with Febreze as a fallback measure.

  " _Shh_ ," Marco stroked his back, and looked out the window. He could see the indistinct layout of cities far below, and wondered if any of them had families willing to accept foster children. If they were willing to accept Christine, Devin and/or Dylan.

Yes, he would definitely check up on them. It was the least he could do, right?

  " _Mon cœur_ ," Jean groaned beside him, his head resting on Marco's shoulder. "Are we... there yet?

  "Not yet," Marco whispered, kissing Jean's temple and relishing the heat and the pulse under his skin. "Sleep a little more."

Jean mumbled his assent and within seconds, he was snoring softly.

The plane touched down at CDG an hour later, and the landing was smooth enough that Jean didn't even wake up. But Luca did, and was gurgling with delight as the landing gave him that fluttery sensation in his belly.

  "We landed," Marco nudged Jean, and the blonde awoke with a start.

  "Wha-where? Oh," Jean ran a hand through his tousled hair, tawny ochre eyes drowsy and sexy as hell. "Ugh. Okay, let's go."

Jean snored all the way back to their apartment, and Marco had to nudge him again when they reached home. He barely held Luca back from sticking his tiny fingers into Jean's open mouth. There was actually a bit of drool snaking down his chin, and Marco sniggered at the unglamorous image.

  "Wake up, cutie," Marco chuckled, wiping the drool away from Jean's face with his sleeve. It was wool, and apparently Burberry, but the freckled man had given up on it when Luca started chewing on his sleeve on the flight, mistaking it for his plushie. He had eleven very sharp teeth, the product of countless nights, through which he'd wailed and wept piteously. "We're home."

  "Five more minutes." Jean muttered, nuzzling against Marco's neck. The freckled man gave the incredibly uncomfortable cab-driver an apologetic look before elbowing Jean in the stomach. That woke him up instantly.

They dragged themselves up to their apartment, where Marco had to dump Jean on the bed and settled Luca beside him on his back. The baby could sense that this was 'home', and giggled and batted the duvet with his tiny fists in celebration. Marco smiled, and went about unpacking. He was tired, but not nearly as fatigued as his husband. Jean not only had to deal with their lawyer, handling the fees, discussing details while Marco generally just seethed beside him, but also work around the clock because it was the end of the financial quarter (they literally could not have chosen a worse time to file a court case) and everyone was sending him the sales reports, the financial statements, asking for conference calls and basically demanding his attention. He was understandably dead on his feet, and his husband didn't begrudge him his rest.

  "Hey, no," Marco stood up quickly when Jean started gagging. Luca had crawled on top of Jean, and happily began to smother him with his plushie and stuck his tiny fingers down Jean's open mouth. Marco hastily scooped Luca off Jean, who struggled upright as he choked out French obscenities. Luca squealed happily.

  "I swear," Jean finally managed to speak coherently. "It's like he  _wants_ me to eat him."

Marco regarded Luca, who gave him an innocuous smile and giggled. "I don't think so. Maybe he's worried that you're starvi-- Jean Kirschstein, when and what was the last thing you ate?"

Jean froze.  _Merde._

  "Uh..." Jean stalled, and gave Luca an accusatory glare when Marco fisted his free hand on the hip that the baby wasn't sitting on. The baby just giggled again.

  "I knew it," Marco grumbled. "I'm going to fix you something to eat, and you better choke it down, do you hear me?"

  "Can I at least place my order?" Jean asked feebly. Marco was a good cook, but that only applied to certain foods. Like instant ramen and microwave popcorn.

Marco gave him a long, long look and marched into the kitchen without a word.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AIN'T NOBODY GONNA INTRUDE ON MY JEANMARCOLUCA&ATLAS SCENE YA HEAR
> 
> (THANK YOU FOR ALL THE COMMENTS AND ENCOURAGEMENTS AND SUGGESTIONS CREATIVEDOODLE STARING AT YOU BECAUSE YOU CUTIE AND YOU TRIED TO HELP AND I'm SORRY I DIDN'T IMPLEMENT IT AND ALSO HARUBI BECAUSE YOU TRIED TO ADOPT CHRISTINE BUT THAT AIN'T GONNA WORK) and why is this in all caps
> 
> And also I am considering doing another series, based on crossover AUs like demigod AUs (Percy Jackson kind), Harry Potter AUs, anything and all AUs. Also thinking about doing one where Jean and Marco are childhood friends and have been hiding their sexuality and crush on each other all their lives because they live in a very traditional and conventional community, etc etc angst angst angst angst blah blah blah tears angst and fluff at the end. DROP ME A COMMENT TO SHARE YOUR SUGGESTION.


	12. Happy With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8 years on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, you cuties. It's been a long (slightly more than 2 weeks??) and wild (I made how many people cry, exactly??) ride, and I'm glad you all have put up with my crappy, unevenly paced shit. It's the last for this AU's Jean and Marco, before I move on to other AUs. I actually want to cry, because I love this AU's couple so damn much (OVERLY ATTACHED TO FICTIONAL CHARACTERS I MANIPULATED) and I really don't want to let go. But all good things must come to an end. And it ends, of all days, on (almost) Marco's birthday. Happy belated birthday, you freckled chéri.

Sometimes Marco missed having a baby to coddle. He'd brought the topic up with Jean, who just arched his eyebrow and pointed at himself.

It wasn't that he didn't like having a nine-year old. He loved Luca, there was no doubt about that. It's just that babies didn't have to spend half the day in the purgatory that was school, and didn't squirm away from your hugs and kisses when they were with their friends because it 'wasn't cool'. Like this morning, when Marco had dropped Luca off in front of his school and bent down to kiss his cheek, the little boy had shuffled his feet and muttered curses in French (Jean's influence was unstoppable) when his friends laughed at him. He couldn't have been more eager to say 'goodbye' and hustle up the steps into his school.

But when school was over, it was an entirely different story.

He'd throw himself at Marco upon sighting his freckled father, and excitedly relate to him the day's events. Who'd made who cry, which teacher had done what, lunch was either good/bad/a Marco-esque disaster (there was a reason why Marco did all the housework and left the cooking to Jean), who barfed after lunch and how he'd gotten that new scrape on his knees. He didn't mind displays of affection after school, mostly because Luca had German language supplementary classes that Jean had essentially forced him to take after school. He was the only student in his supplementary classes, and the one and half hours of being by himself with no one but a strict teacher made him go home alone. But Marco was always there to pick him up after school, waiting on the school porch with a book and one of Luca's many favourite snacks. He might be a terrible cook, but he was a fairly decent baker.

Both Jean and Marco had been concerned about Luca when he first started school. It was no secret that they were gay couple, and there was a possibility that Luca might get bullied for his parents sexual orientation. But they need not have worried, because Luca turned out to be a natural charmer. Jean had burst out laughing when Luca came home everyday with the proud declaration that he'd changed his girlfriend or boyfriend, while his freckled spouse was infinitely less amused because he was worried that Luca might grow up to be a playboy. He thought about sitting the then-six year old down for a talk, then changed his mind when Luca came home one day, raging because some  _dumm führt_ had stolen his girlfriend with a chocolate bar during break time. Better to let him experience 'love' for himself. He calmed, soothed and barely managed not to snicker (Jean just howled with laughter until he cried) as he pacified an outraged Luca. Afterwards, he whacked Jean on the head for teaching their son German obscenities. Like Luca knowing French insults wasn't bad enough, now the little boy had a potty mouth as bad as his blonde father's and he wasn't even twelve!

Today was a day like any other: Marco sat outside  _Cours Moliere_ , reading his dog-eared copy of  _French for Intermediate Learners_ and a Tupperware containing a fresh-out-of-the-oven blueberry muffin beside him on the bench. He glanced at his watch, a Patek Phillipe gift from Jean for their 5th wedding anniversary (Marco originally felt that the brandless red tie with a pattern of tiny prancing horses was severely inadequate, but Jean had banished his doubts during their celebratory sex that night), and wondered what was taking Luca so long. It was already fifteen minutes past four in the afternoon, and he was usually let out at four on the dot. He touched the Tupperware box to make sure the muffin was still warm so it would be good to eat.

Then he choked as a pair of arms wrapped around his neck from behind and nearly asphyxiated him.

  "Daddy!" Luca fairly shouted into his ear, and Marco winced.

He untangled his son's arms from around his neck before the nine-year old unintentionally killed his own father and pulled him into his lap for a hug. "Hey,  _mon petit_. How was school?"

  "Oh! Oh! Guillaume pulled Felicia's hair during class and she cried and Guillaume got scolded and I think Guillaume actually likes Felicia a lot because  _tante_ Evangeline said guys always bully the girls they like so that means Guillaume really likes Felicia," Luca spoke without punctuation and pause, much to Marco's amusement. "and, and lunch today was roast chicken and beet salad but I didn't want to eat my beets so I threw it on Cosette's plate and kissed her so she'd eat it."

Marco was somewhere between incredibly entertained and suitably horrified. "Luca! You can't do that!"

  "But I hate beets," Luca scowled, and Marco could easily see Jean in the downward turn of Luca's lips and the stubborn set of his jaw. "I didn't want to throw them away, either. So I gave it to Cosette."

 _I don't even know where to begin,_ Marco simultaneously wanted to chuckle and despair.  _This is_ so  _Jean's fault._

Luca chattered on, blissfully unaware of Marco's dilemma. It was like he was one again, and babbled endlessly when he was excited or happy. Marco had to tell him to take a breath so he could eat his muffin before it got cold. He scarfed it down with great alacrity, determined to tell Marco about his whole day. While he ate, the freckled man smiled fondly and pushed the hair out of his eyes. It was still styled like Jean's undercut, and if not for his softened features, chocolate-brown eyes and freckles, he would have looked like a miniature replica of Marco's husband of almost nine years. When the hairstylist at their usual salon suggested giving Luca a different hairstyle, the little boy had thrown such a fit.

Once he was done eating, Marco took the box and book in one hand, Luca's hand in the other. They began the usual journey home, the afternoon sun bathing them in its warmth and gold light. Luca continued to tell Marco about what had taken place in the 7 hours they hadn't been together. Sometimes, the freckled man could tell that Luca had missed his daddies at school. Now was one of those moments. He clung to Marco's hand a little more tightly than usual, and always wanted to hear Marco's response or opinion. The walk home took a solid 45 minutes, and you'd think that would wear a nine-year old down for an afternoon nap.

But of course not. The minute they were through the front door, Luca dashed towards Jean's study. Marco trailed after him, picking up his discarded socks, backpack and shoes. There was a bark of greeting, followed by:

  " _Papa!"_

" _Ow!"_

 

Marco chuckled. Luca's greetings were always very... forceful. He walked in on the sight of Jean trying to disentangle Luca's arms from around his neck, a similar predicament to Marco's just an hour ago. The little boy shrieked with delight as his look-alike daddy resorted to tickling him to get him off his neck. At Jean's feet, Atlas II wagged his tail, thumping it against the floor as he watched his masters roughhouse. 

Atlas I, the first dog they'd ever owned, had died three years ago. Luca was only six then, but he understood the implications of 'Atlas has gone to sleep forever' and had cried for almost two hours straight before he'd fallen asleep, all wrung out of tears and utterly exhausted from mourning. Marco had shed some tears of his own, while Jean fended off his husband's teasing that his eyes were all shiny and red even though he hadn't cried a drop (in front of Marco, that is). Not long after, Jean had suggested getting another Sheltie to be Atlas' successor. They got one with a fairly mild temperament, and were so overcome with nostalgia for Atlas I that they unanimously agreed to call him Atlas II (the fact that Luca insisted on calling him Atlas because he looked and behaved almost exactly like his predecessor may have been a huge contributing factor). He was an affectionate dog that didn't like to be alone. He always curled up near or on people, never quite  _demanding_ attention per se, but more like needing the physical contact and companionship. He slept on Luca's beds most nights, despite Marco's lectures that Atlas shed too much dog hair on Luca's bed. He let it slide anyway, because they looked so darned adorable snuggling up against each other in their sleep.

  "Welcome home." Jean grunted when he finally stopped Luca from strangling him. "Do I want to know how school was?"

Luca looked aggrieved yet excited to relate his day  _again_. Marco clapped his hands to stop him before he distracted Jean too much from his work.

Over the years, Jean had spent so much time on the computer that he began to need glasses for near-sighted work. At Marco's insistence, he'd visited the optometrist and come back with a pair of rectangular, black-framed glasses. He complained that he looked like an old man now, but Marco hid a smile as he considered how sexily mature Jean looked with his glasses on. He was wearing them now, as he regarded Marco with a lopsided, knowing grin.

  "Go wash your face and take your afternoon nap," Marco shooed a disappointed Luca out of Jean's study. The little boy dutifully headed towards the bathroom, Atlas II trotting after him as he anticipated the daily siesta.

  "Same old, same old?" Jean beckoned for Marco to come nearer, still wearing that crooked grin of his.

  "Same old," Marco sighed as he sat on Jean's lap. "He punched a boy named Frederic during class today. It turned into an all-out brawl. I'm surprised we didn't--"

Marco stopped and glared at Jean in abrupt realisation. "They called when I was out grocery shopping, didn't they?"

Jean looked anywhere but at his husband, until Marco pinched his arm and he yelped. "Okay, okay! They did. I said I was sorry, and I'd be sure to scold Luca when he got home."

  "You thought Luca was in the right?" Marco raised an eyebrow.

  "I'd punch anyone who took you from me," Jean shrugged. "Luca's fickleness notwithstanding, anyone who steals your boyfriend  _or_ girlfriend, is an insult that cannot be taken lying down."

  "I'm going to assume you've been teaching our son your MMA moves again," Marco jabbed Jean in the side. Despite being well over thirty, his body hadn't changed from his mid-twenties. Marco, on the other hand, had trimmed down a little now that he was free most mornings when Luca was in school to go jogging along the Seine. He as still stocky in build as always, neither fat nor trim, but somewhere in-between.

  "A man has to learn how to defend himself," Jean said firmly, and Marco rolled his eyes.

  "Daddy!"

Marco climbed out of Jean's lap, sweeping a hand lightly over the blonde's arm as he left. "Coming, sweetie."

Jean went back to his work while Marco read a book to Luca so the hyped-up nine-year old could take his nap. After some years of dealing with the business, he'd laid down some ground rules. He only worked around Paris time, unless it was an emergency or end of the financial quarter. He also put down Sunday as his off-day (again, unless it was an emergency, etc). That way, he got more rest and more time for his family.

Halfway through studying a manager's notes on the financial statement, Jean felt arms slipping around his neck once more. But these arms were bigger, longer and more tender than Luca's overly-enthusiastic greeting.

  "Rest your eyes, babe," Marco kissed Jean's cheek and removed his spectacles. "I'd hate for you to go blind."

  "Mm," Jean leaned back against Marco, revelling in the warmth of his sweetheart. Almost nine years of marriage, and Jean still treasured moments like these. "I'd hate to never be able to connect-the-dots with your freckles again,  _mon cœur_."

The last of the afternoon sun slanted in through the windows of Jean's study, and bathed them in a golden glow. It was a beautiful moment, ethereal and ephemeral. It was unreal, listening the the wind dancing through the trees lining the pavement outside their apartment, feeling the gentle warmth of the sun, and wondering if this was just a dream. Marco still had nightmares, where he woke up from the fears that had still lingered in his bones, crying and cold sweat all over his skin, desperate for Jean's reassurance.

  "Is this real?" Marco whispered, looking beyond the window, where the sky was painted with streaks of orange, pink and purple in the glowing cast of the sunset. He asked this now and then, as if to reassure himself that he wasn't 25 again and sitting in his bathroom apartment with the razor pressed to his wrist, in a way that the gold band on his ring finger couldn't. He still kept the letter, unbeknownst to Jean, in it's crumpled envelope in the top drawer of his nightstand. When he couldn't sleep, and didn't want to wake a snoring Jean, he would unfold the letter and press it to his chest as if he could physically dispel niggling, residual doubts. Most days he didn't feel them, and didn't need the reassurance, but they were there. Settling like the dregs of cold coffee that you no longer paid attention to but the minute you let your mind wander back... they were there. Unwanted, annoying and stubborn. 

Jean kissed the ring on Marco's fingers and rubbed his arm, watching the same twilight and understanding the ghosts that haunted their past. He could soothe, console, kiss, hug and drive him to the climax of the pleasures of the flesh. But they would always be there, like a third wheel that you couldn't remove. Jean had learned to live with it, to understand and to accommodate it. Like he did now, as he murmured into the scarred flesh over Marco's wrist:

  "It is,  _mon cœur. Ce qui est réel."_

 

 


End file.
